


New Amsterdam

by TheStrange_One



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Univers-All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Blackmail, Gore, Meet-Cute, Pepper Potts Is Awesome, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter is exhausted, Peter sucks at taking care of himself, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is an Accidental Ass, Underage - Freeform, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson Takes Care of Peter Parker, shield is not good, workplace angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-04-09 04:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 171
Words: 182,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: The superheroing community of New Amsterdam has issued the friendly neighborhood Spiderman an ultimatum--tell them who he is, or be without backup. However, there are a few details the superheroing community doesn't know, and Spiderman is determined to protect them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Off The Record](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852201) by [crookedswingset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedswingset/pseuds/crookedswingset). 



> All right my lovely audience, my sweet readers. With Kingdoms (mostly) wrapped up, it's time to start thinking ahead to my next one! Honestly, I'm tied between this one and another one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052299/chapters/45255817). So, I'll post the first chapter of each and let the comment section decide! Tuesday morning (because that's when I get off work and is, frankly, my one day off this week) will be the day I tally everything up. Comment to cast your vote (even if it's just an emoji, it counts). Okay, I'll be working on both fics--but I'll FOCUS on whichever gets the most votes and update the other one sporadically.
> 
> Also--this one starts off dark and sweetens up as I go. The other one starts off sweet and darkens as I go. Thought you should know that going in. :)

Peter hissed as he pulled yet another piece of shrapnel from his stomach. Just his luck that not only did the new bad guy in town throw bombs, but that he threw bombs designed to shred metal into their surroundings—or into one friendly neighborhood arachnid. He let the metal drop to the roof with a light clang. He sighed and took a deep breath. He had four more of these things to dig out; four more to pull before his healing factor could start to kick in. He would do it; he had to. It was nothing he hadn’t done before. Besides, the shrapnel clearly hadn’t hit anything vital on the way in.

“You could have called for help.”

Peter didn’t have to look up to know the comment came from none other than Hell’s Kitchen’s own superhero Daredevil. “Called who?” Peter asked hollowly.

Three weeks back, the different superhero factions of New Amsterdam had called Spiderman (separately, of course, although he still wondered about the timing) and had issued an ultimatum. Either Spiderman could tell them, each and every single one of them, who he really was—or he could find himself alone, without backup of any kind from any faction.

It had been a hard call. There were people in _Peter’s_ life who were desperate, weak, and vulnerable. With the enemies _Spiderman_ had, they would be easy prey and would die—probably slowly and over the course of several days, knowing his enemies. As for _Spiderman’s_ hero buddies? If they had any inkling of what kind of monster Norman was—they’d attack him. They’d attack him and he would _destroy_ them.

Because what Norman was, wasn’t illegal. In fact, there were several people who, if everything came to light, would agree that Norman was only doing this out of love, out of respect, and out of a desire to protect. If the Avengers, or any of the other heroes for that matter, moved against him—Norman would play the innocent bird, hounded by the wolves that no government could keep in check. They would be reamed by the court of public opinion, SHIELD would turn on them, and there might even be another civil war between them. All because of Peter.

“Kid,” said Daredevil, “you know us.”

Peter gripped another piece of shrapnel. They weren’t coming out of his stomach by themselves. “I know,” he hissed as he pulled it out again, “the ultimatum you— _all_ of you gave me.” He panted when it was out and dropped it to the roof where it landed with a metallic clink on top of the other shrapnel. He gently pressed the wound to make sure none of his intestines had come out with it. He’d only made that mistake _once_.

“You know everything about us. You know where the Four live—”

“It’s in the phone book,” muttered Peter as he gripped another piece and sweat ran down his back. He wished he had some kind of painkiller to make this easier—but he didn’t. He _couldn't_ , not if he wanted to make sure he got it all.

And for all the talk Daredevil was giving him about “calling for help,” the masked vigilante wasn’t offering a damn thing. Peter gripped the piece of shrapnel and started to yank it out. This one was twisted, which meant he was going to have to wiggle it out and hope that he didn’t hit anything vital while he did.

“You know the Avengers.”

Peter jerked a thumb towards the tower, a lightly glowing beacon that managed to somehow stand out among the unique buildings that called New Amsterdam City their home. “They’re not exactly _subtle_ ,” he snarled as the piece popped out. He gave a low, involuntary whine before dropping it with the rest of the pile.

“We’re not asking the world,” argued the devil.

Peter laughed breathlessly as he gripped another shard. “You,” he said as he began to pull, “have no idea what you’re asking.” Another clanged to the rooftop. Another pause to catch his breath, because these things _hurt_.

“Why don’t you tell us what we’re asking?”

“You want to know? You really want to know?” Anger helped Peter to yank out the last one and he pat his abdomen looking for any more of them. “You told me, you _all_ told me that I had three choices; quit, tell all of you who I am, or keep doing this alone.” Peter kept leaning against the chimney, hoping that his body language said that he was _pissed_ rather than _weak_. “There are people who will _die_ if the world learns who Spiderman is,” Peter said. He tried not to think of the people who already _had_ died because Spiderman wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough. He couldn't put the few he had left in jeopardy.

“We can keep a secret kid.”

The weak laugh was strained—and not just from the multiple holes in his stomach. “Could have fooled me,” he said. “Was it last week, or the week before you were attacked by magic ninjas in your office? Your _civilian_ office?” He used his web to cover his abdomen and keep the holes from leaking until after he could get his first aid kit. The fluid stung as it came into contact with open wounds, but he knew it wouldn't hurt him. Not more than he already was, anyway.

“Touche. But we can help you keep your people safe. We do it for each other all the time.”

They did. Peter helped. He almost, _almost_ gave in and told Daredevil who he was, who his other side was. And then Norman’s evil, grinning face crossed his mind and he shook his head. “Who’ll protect you?” he asked bleakly. He turned and leaped off the building, riding his webs into the night and away from the inquisitive hero.

He wasn’t there to notice when Daredevil picked up the pieces of shrapnel that had been in his stomach, or he might have panicked at having left blood evidence so easily gathered. He didn’t see the costumed vigilante run his gloved hands over the shrapnel, gauging the size, shape, and weight of the shrapnel. He didn’t hear the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen mutter, “Shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daredevil confronts the person who told him to find out Spiderman's identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right my lovely audience! It's bright and early Tuesday morning, the votes are in--and the results are a tie. Seriously, I had exactly one comment on each story. So--I'm going to try to work on both of them. I might shift to prioritizing one over the other, depending on traffic, but I'm going to try to give them equal priority. Now--that means I'll have a slower posting schedule than my audience is used to. I'll do my best to post in each fic several times a week--but we'll see. This is my first time doing simultaneous fics. And now--on to the chapter! :)

The desk was just a normal office desk; metal and edges. Behind the desk, to the right and up against the wall, was a filing cabinet, because there were some things that just couldn't be kept on a server, not with the problems they’d had. To one side of his monitor was a cup full of pens. To the other was a small picture frame. There was no picture in the frame, but the way it was angled kept people from seeing that and gave him something to look at while people were talking to him. It gave him an interesting insight into the personalities of the people he worked with to know what kind of picture they assumed he was looking at.

The door to the small office was brutally opened and he mentally winced at the thought of applying for a new doorknob  _again_ . He had a feeling that maintenance was about to just take the door off its hinges so they wouldn't have to keep replacing the knob. He didn’t like that idea, preferred to have a door that separated him from the rest of his coworkers.

The man who came into the office was a tall, imposing figure in a form fitting bright red leather.  The leather mask came over the top of the face like a hood, creating a blank expanse of red over the eyes. On either side of the top of his head were two leather nubs that looked almost like horns. “Daredevil,” said the office worker as he stood up and adjusted his tie. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he added.

The vigilante held a hand out and several sharp, jagged, irregular pieces of metal fell onto the desk with a clang. They shone in the office light, and had a faint odor of bleach. “I met Spiderman tonight,” Daredevil said brutally. “He was pulling these out of his body.”

He looked at the pile of metal pieces. “They look remarkably clean,” he commented.

“Do they?”

He looked Daredevil right where his eyes would be—if he needed eyes for his mask. “We can’t protect him if we don’t know who he is.”

“You’ve mentioned that. Logically, it makes sense.” The head didn’t move as Daredevil looked at him. “My gut says there’s more than this and that the kid has a good reason for his actions.”

“If he’s staying hidden to protect his loved ones, we can help.”

“I said that. Do you know what he asked me? He said, ‘Who’ll protect you?’” Daredevil was silent for a moment in the room and he wondered how much the blind hero was learning from the beat of his heart. “He thinks he’s protecting _us_ ,” Daredevil continued. “I’m not sure what he thinks he’s protecting us from, but he truly believes he’s protecting us.” The vigilante turned and walked out of the office.

He sighed and flopped back in his chair before grabbing his office phone. He pushed a button that connected him directly to his superior. “Sir,” he said as he looked at the shiny, almost impossibly clean pieces of metal on his desk, “we’ve got a problem.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants to promote Peter. Peter wants to protect Tony.

Tony Stark, CEO, head, and namesake of Stark Enterprises, walked through the lab.  It was nothing out of the ordinary, he walked through all the labs of Stark Tower several times a day—but seven times in the same day was a little much. It wasn’t even time to break for lunch yet.

It was all Peter could do not to flinch as Tony came to a stop behind him and looked at the experiment that Peter was working on.  He felt the movement behind him as Tony nodded. “Good job,” he said absently.

“Uh, thanks, Mr. Stark?” said Peter nervously.

“Tony!” The door to the lab opened and there stood a _very_ upset personal assistant. “You have a meeting in five minutes and _it’s not on this floor_! Get moving!”

“Yes, Dear.” Tony moved across the lab floor and Peter let out a small, nervous breath.

Once Tony was firmly out of the room the  people in the lab let out small sighs of relief. His lab partner, Chloe, smacked Peter’s arm. “Just take the damn promotion,” she growled at him. “We can’t take much more of this.”

A  couple weeks back, Peter had been pulled from the lab into a meeting with none other than Tony Stark himself, the famous Iron Man. Who had been reading a paper  when Peter, confused at being suddenly summoned from his work station, came in. “Ah, Parker. Take a seat.” Peter had nervously sat on the chair in the office, and wondered if he was about to get fired. “Do you know why you’re here?” Tony asked, looking at Peter with his narrowed eyes.

“N—no,” stammered Peter flushing. His eyes darted around the small office, and he wondered if this was going to be his last time working in the tower.

Tony picked up the paper. “Theoretical use of titanium microfilaments to directly connect an artificial limb to the nervous system to allow the subject to feel sensations through it,” the CEO superhero read. He tossed the paper back to the desk. “Sound familiar?” he asked.

Of course it did. It was the same paper that Peter had turned into his supervisor a few days ago, fully expecting the man to take credit for it. He didn’t care—the idea could revolutionize artificial limbs and help so many people that it didn’t matter  _who_ got credit for it—as long as it got done. “Ye—yes?” he said timidly.

“That sounds like a question.” Tony leaned his head on his folded hands over the desk as he regarded the young lab assistant. “Chambers, your supervisor, read your report and brought it straight to me. I want to give you your own lab, so that you can experiment with this idea. Solid idea. Solid concept. Why titanium?”

Peter automatically answered as his mind spun. “Titanium is the metal least likely to have a negative interaction with a patient’s immune system and has a low corrosion time.” His own lab! He could be on the forefront of technology! He could—

He could be forced to spy for Norman. Right now, as a mere lab assistant, he had next to no power (and also next to no salary). If he got his own lab, with the power that having his own lab meant—he’d be in a better position for spying. And if Norman knew that—he’d tell Peter to do it. And Peter would—to protect Harry.

Peter swallowed. “I can’t,” he whispered. He was not going to become a spy for Tony’s nemesis. If that meant he couldn't get his own lab, or even a raise, then that was what it meant. He cleared his throat and looked at the older man. “I am—very grateful, Sir, but I can’t accept a promotion.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Peter’s mind reeled. He swallowed nervously again. “Because—because there are other, far more qualified people in that lab who deserve to be promoted first,” he said firmly.

And, as a result of that meeting, Tony had been coming to the lab and poking around it several times a day. Peter couldn't understand it; Stark Industries did not hire stupid people—surely there was someone  _else_ that Tony could focus his attention on! Was the man so unused to hearing the word “no” that he automatically became obsessed with someone who said it? Like Chloe said, it was nerve racking.

He looked at Chloe, slightly panicked. “There are people more qualified!” he insisted for the millionth time. The first time he said that, his fellow lab assistants and even lab manager had been flattered. Now they looked annoyed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Chloe said firmly. A glance around showed that she was speaking for all of them. “Tony wants _you_.”

“He shouldn't!” protested Peter panicked.

Luckily the lab manager stepped in. “All right, time for lunch. Let’s get it done before the boss comes on another round.”

Hunching protectively Peter shot off towards the break room to get his lunch from the fridge. Sure, he could have gone to the cafeteria like the others did, but that would mean paying for his food. The leftovers from his aunt were free.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool makes his first appearance (in this fic).

Deadpool, AKA Wade Wilson, AKA  _getting super pissed_ , glared at the man in front of him. He’d kill the idiot—if he didn’t know the organization the man worked for would lock him up for three years, killing him horribly  _at least_ once a day, like they did the  _last_ time he killed one of their stooges. 

[You’d think they could just fine us like everyone else when we kill their people.]

{And to think, people actually think they’re the  _good_ guys!}

Deadpool nodded. “It sucks,” he agreed with his voices.

The man, who looked like an average, overweight middle-aged office drone, shifted nervously. “What?” he asked.

“It sucks,” Deadpool repeated, “that I can’t kill you because I don’t want to piss of your boss.”

The man cleared his throat. “It’s really a simple matter,” he said, the tremble in his voice evidence (as if Deadpool needed  _more_ evidence)  that he was terrified.

Boo-hoo. The man was scared. Whoop-DE-freaking do. Deadpool pulled out one of his knives (a tactical knife) and began to twirl it on one finger. “You want me,” he growled, “ to tell you,” he gestured with the hand that wasn’t twirling the knife, “a masked hero’s real identity.”

“There are solid reasons for the request,” the stooge pointed out. “A hero needs backup, legal help, and—” The man’s voice cut out as Deadpool’s free hand jerked out and gripped him in the throat. The knife never even wobbled.

“I don’t care what you _think_ these good reasons are,” he said darkly. “I can just see it now, oh, we know who you are and we want to protect you, by the way, if you don’t do this for us our protection of your loved ones might just slip—I know how you fucking people work!” Deadpool growled and flipped the knife in the air catching the handle with professional ease.

{Do it! Take out his eye! Slice up his brain!}

[Don’t do it. They’re watching. Besides, we’re trying not to kill people, remember?]

“Please don’t kill my associate Deadpool. He’s a good accountant and they’re hard to find.”

Deadpool turned and his eyes narrowed at the new arrival. “ Well,” he said dropping the man he was holding. “If it isn’t Mr. Too-popular-to-leave-dead himself. What brings you to this shitty part of the world?” He ignored the choking behind him as the man began to breathe again.

The new arrival  was dressed much like the office drone, but there was a clear difference—where the office drone was pudgy and overweight, this man was svelte and built. He carried himself like a fighter, or an active agent. “ Now Deadpool,” he said conversationally, “you can’t go killing my coworkers. My boss doesn’t like that.”

Deadpool bit back a low growl. “I know how your boss ‘doesn’t like that’,” he spat.

The new arrival ignored him, turning instead to the office drone. “Deadpool?” he asked. “Really?”

The office drone had the grace to flush. “Well, no one  _else_ is getting anywhere!” he said defensively.

“And you’re not supposed to attempt to contact anyone over level three. Deadpool is level thirteen,” said the new arrival firmly. “Sorry about that,” he said congenially as he turned back to the masked murderer.

“So, I wasn’t supposed to be contacted,” Deadpool said in a deadpan voice.

[I don’t know if we’re supposed to be flattered or insulted.]

The agent smiled warmly. “Come on ‘Pool,” he said casually, friendly. “You and I both know that the last person to give away someone's secrets would be you.”

True. Deadpool shot a glare at the office drone before turning. “Good,” he said walking away.

{You know what I think? I think we  _should_ find out this guy’s identity.}

[Have you lost your mind?!]

{Hear me out; if  _we_ know his identity, we can protect him from these idiots!}

“We can do that _without_ knowing his identity,” argued Deadpool as he left the building.

[True. Let’s go visit.]

{How will we find him?}

“Luckily,” Deadpool grunted as he walked, “I know people.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a little late meeting Norman and Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. Remember my tags? If note, I strongly encourage you to check them out again. This chapter falls under the heading, "abuse." There's no other word for it, but it gives context and is needed for the story. Sorry.

Ignoring the desk in the lobby, ignoring the guard designed to filter the people walking into the building, Peter raced inside. He was late, he knew he was late, but there was a robbery on the way over he’d had to help with. He ignored the elevator and ran up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Scaling the walls would have been even faster—but he didn’t want anyone, especially not anyone here, to know about his powers.

He slammed through the doors at the right floor, burst into the room—and his heart squeezed to see Harry, his best friend, collapsed on the floor. “Harry!” he cried out as he ran in. Could he call 911? No, Norman would never let them in the building; they might learn, they might find out—

Norman leaned against his desk tapping on his phone. “You’re late Peter,” he said casually. He sends the code and Harry begins to breathe easier, color returning to his cheeks.

“The subway was held up!” snarled Peter as he kept a hand on Harry’s face. His breathing was better, and he was slowly coming back from—from wherever Norman had sent him to when he didn’t send the code on time.

“Punctuality is the trait of successful people,” said Norman as though he was genuinely trying to help Peter and hadn’t almost murdered his own son. The elder Osborn picked up a glass on his desk and took a long, leisurely sip from it—while his son gasped for breath and slowly regained the vibrancy needed for life.

Peter had never hated the man more in his life than he did at that moment, watching Norman calmly sip a drink right after _almost murdering his child_ ! If anyone could have convinced him to break his no killing rule, it would be Norman. But—the only think keeping Harry alive was the ten digit code that only Norman knew, so not only could Peter _not_ kill him, Peter had to protect him.

“So,” drawled Harry as he got his breath back, “is being a dick and walking all over people. Apparently.”

Norman looked down on Harry, his only child, with thinly veiled contempt. “And that,” Norman said, “is why you don’t have a future. Unlike Peter here. Peter, I heard about the job offer Stark made you.”

Of course he had.

“When will you take it?”

“When you’re not holding Harry’s life over me like a twisted carrot,” Peter snapped back. He expected Norman to order him to take the job, to remind him that talking back was a bad idea—

Norman did neither of those things. He simply nodded. “I see. I won’t lie; it would have been nice to have another spy in Stark’s company.” Norman set his drink down and walked towards the two young men on the floor before gently tousling Peter’s hair. “Remember,” he said affectionately, “when you’re pushing someone, don’t push them further than they can go.” Without looking back he left the office.

Harry slumped forward. “God,” he swore, “I hate my father.”

“I hate him too.”

“At least Mary Jane isn’t here for this,” grumbled Harry.

Come to think of it… “Where is she?” asked Peter with curiosity. Both of them knew how Norman felt about his son. Both of them knew how dangerous Norman was. They both liked to think that Norman was underestimating them—but the sad truth was that Norman knew almost everything about both of them.

Harry rubbed his face as Peter helped him stand up. “She has a show coming up,” he said absently.

Peter didn’t like how his eyes were still glazed, as though part of his brain was rebooting. “Come on,” he said helping Harry limp over to one of the office couches. Norman’s office was decorated less like an office and more like a VIP hotel suite. Searching for a neutral topic of discussion he asked, “Fashion or theatre?”

Harry’s lips twisted wryly as life slowly came back to his face. “There’s a difference?” he quipped.

Peter laughed weakly and dropped to the couch next to his friend. “Who knows?” he asked wearily.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Peter, my father is insane.”

Peter remembered the cold, calculating look in Norman’s eyes when he realized how _useful_ Peter could be to him—and how much Peter cared about Harry. “I know.”

“This isn’t—this isn’t going to end well.”

“It will.” If nothing else, Peter could keep his hope alive.

“It won’t.” Harry was giving up.

_Harry_ , poster child for _let’s find another way_ , was giving up. “It will. The good guys always win.”

Harry laughed weakly. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “That sounds so corny.”

When Peter left the building, he went to one of the few places nearby that were a blind spot for Iron Man’s almost omniscient AI. After a confrontation like that, it was almost a relief to put on the mask and be someone else for a few hours. At least he could _pretend_ he was helping people.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman and Deadpool, first story interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a flashback of how these two met later, I promise. :)

The beaten, battered face in front of Deadpool managed, despite all odds, to split into a grin. “The bitch deserved it,” he gloated.

Deadpool didn’t have to glance down to see the victim—a girl who couldn't be more than fourteen—flinch from the man’s words. He knocked the sorry sucker out with another punch.

{What’s all this holding back shit? Be lethal!}

[Killing him is the only way to make sure he’ll never hurt another person.]

Agreeing Deadpool dropped the sorry sack of meat and pulled one of his katanas. Just a single thrust and the man would never again hurt another poor, innocent—

As his arms raised over his body an expertly aimed shot of web pinned him to the alley wall beside him. He watched with a sense of resignation as the spider themed hero dropped down and began talking to the girl learning her age (fifteen), what she was doing in the alley (went out with her friends and got separated), and that the poor kid had never been to New Amsterdam before.

[And he’s going to hate us now.]

{We’ve gotten this speech before…}

Which was true, but he was _trying_ to be good! He was _trying_ not to kill people! Didn’t that count for _something_?

“ _You are an irredeemable stain on society. I don’t know why I thought you could change.”_

Well, fuck you too Colossus.

“ _You’re nothing but a loose cannon and a liability.”_

He wasn’t going to argue with the statement, but being cut off had kind of hurt. Thanks Cap.

“ _Do you honestly believe anyone would find something of worth in_ you _?”_

Deadpool could still see the smirk on the dark beauty’s face.

He barely noticed as Spiderman webbed the injured guy to the ground and then walked over to Deadpool. He flinched, slightly, as the hero single handedly yanked the webbing off, slung an arm around Deadpool, and the two of them walked away as sirens headed towards them in the distance. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

It never came. “You were doing good,” Spiderman said companionably as they walked away.

_What?_

[How could he say that?]

{We almost killed that guy.}

And then, because Spiderman couldn't hear the voices in his head, “I almost killed that guy.”

Spiderman shrugged. “You weren’t trying to,” he said calmly. “I saw—you went after him with fists first. It wasn’t until that garbage _he_ spewed that you pulled the sword.”

Deadpool hunched over after he sheathed his sword. “Yeah, well…”

Spiderman gently clapped him on the back. Deadpool used the term “gently” because he’d seen the hero punch through solid steel and the mercenary didn’t even stagger. “Don’t stress it,” the costumed hero said firmly. “You heard a cry for help; you answered. You even answered _non-violently_. And honestly? If I’d been the one facing him I’m not sure I would have been able to keep from snapping his neck. Good job.”

[And this is why Spidey is our favorite hero _ever_.]

{I thought it was the ass? The peach shaped ass?}

Deadpool huffed a laugh. “Thanks Spidey,” he said. Thanks for seeing the intentions. Thanks for listening and paying attention. Thanks for not giving up.

Suddenly the hero tensed and whipped his head around before turning back to Deadpool. “How do you feel about helping me with a hostage situation?” he asked cheerfully.

Deadpool fluttered his non-existent lashes. “Aw, you say the _sweetest_ things.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is on his way home when someone calls to him for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OuH9FF3BtZU
> 
> You may want to watch the video first. This is dark. Really dark.
> 
> I can hear you say, "But Strange, there wasn't a cute video for the chapter with Harry!" Well, that's because this one is worse. Necessary, but worse. (I did mention that this one starts kind of dark, right?)

Nothing quite like an eventful few hours patrolling to make him feel better about things he couldn't control. Peter almost hummed to himself as he walked the rest of the way home. The streets were almost deserted.

Almost. A kid, gender indistinguishable and wearing over sized clothes that covered almost everything but the face and hands, came running up to him. “Mr. Parker!” the kid cried out, eyes wide and worried.

And nothing like something like this to remind him how powerless he really was. “Lead the way,” he ordered.

There were a lot of questions he didn’t ask. He didn’t ask who was injured (what he didn’t know, he couldn't tell).  He didn’t ask where they were going (he was about to find out). He didn’t ask if it was  _safe_ (because clearly it wasn’t).

“What happened?” he asked.

“Two of the Snipers accused us of encroaching on their territory, and they decided to teach us a lesson,” his guide said. Like him, his guide wasn’t winded in the slightest.

One of New Amsterdam’s dirty little secrets were the street children.  Some of them were runaways, from homes that weren’t abusive—on paper. The same that Norman was a loving father— _on paper_ . Some of them were abandoned, some born on the street—but there were lots of them. Peter wasn’t certain how many there were—and he never asked. He couldn't tell a secret he didn’t know, after all.

He wasn’t certain why they seemed to trust him, or why they went to him when they avoided almost every other adult. He was, however, determined not to break that trust.  They needed  _someone_ , after all, someone to look after them. And Peter was better than no one at all.

His guide led him to an alley and, hidden between two dumpsters, was another kid; bruised, beaten. Peter dropped and began checking for broken bones. The kid stirred. “Hey,” it slurred. “Ain’t ol’ ‘nough fer thet.”

Peter stared at the child in horror as his guide leaned around. “It’s Mr. Parker. You remember Mr. Parker?”

“I ‘member.” The child shuddered. “Hurts.”

“I know it hurts,” Peter said gently as he pulled away. “I need to see how badly it hurts. I’m going to ask some questions, and I need you to answer as best as you can, okay?”

“Mr. Parker,” said his guide worriedly.

“Don’t worry, I know better,” Peter assured both children. “Now, do you remember when you woke up today?” he asked the injured child. It didn’t appear to have broken bones.

The child whimpered. “Sun bright,” it said.

Peter frowned. He didn’t like how distant and unclear the child sounded. He reached into his medical kit (he started carrying it all the time with his other supplies) and pulled out a pen flashlight. “I’m going to hold your head up,” Peter said, “so that I can look into your eyes. I’m worried that your head might be hurt.”  When the child nodded he turned on the light. “I’m going to need you to look straight ahead,” he said. The child complied and he shone the light to check the pupils. One reacted to the light, the other was severely dilated and  u nresponsive.

He took a deep breath. There was only one thing he could do now, and it wasn’t something he wanted to do. He turned to his guide. “Go,” he said firmly. “Grab any of the others that are near here and go. I have to call for help.” The first time he’d had to do this, the children had argued. But now the guide simply nodded and ran off. Peter gave her a ten-second head start before he pulled out his phone and dialed.

“911, What is the nature of your emergency?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool gets into Stark Tower and meets one specific lab assistant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my lovely audience. This is not nearly as dark as the last chapter and is essentially a meet-cute between Deadpool and Peter. Enjoy! :)

Deadpool ducked into one of the many labs on the floor, around security. There were six people in this lab, and five faces turned to him and contorted in horror. He pressed a finger to his lips to signify quiet and the sixth one, with headphones on, could be heard singing softly.  The pretty boy—

{And he  _is_ a pretty boy!}

[Not like we have a chance, idiot!]

—was paying no attention to what was going on around him. Suddenly an alarm blared through the building and Deadpool launched one of his swords through the speaker on the wall, silencing it. The ones who had noticed him backed away. “Sorry,” he said apologetically as the one singing looked up at the still wobbling sword. “I panicked.” Several faces went pale as they regarded him.

The pretty boy jerked off his headphones. “Hey,” he said pointing at the sword, “can I borrow this?”

“Sure?” said Deadpool, intrigued.

“All right!” The boy picked up several pieces of paper and began using the sharp edge of the blade to cut them into what appeared to be equal sized strips as Deadpool watched, fascinated.

{Hoo! That’s  _hot_ !}

[Down boy. We don’t know if he’s legal.]

{Sh! Don’t ruin our fun!}

“Parker!” said an older man firmly.

“Just a minute sir,” said the boy without even looking up from his self appointed task. “Almost done.” He lined up the papers at his work station and then looked around. He saw his fellow lab mates staring at him in shock and frowned. “What?” he asked.

Deadpool just chuckled, stepped forwards, and grabbed his sword. “You,” he said, “are funny.”

The pretty boy, Parker, just grinned at him. “You’re sword’s sharp,” he said. There was a hint of teasing in the tone.

“Parker!”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” said the boy, instantly reverting to submissive as he gathered the strips. “On the way.” He brushed past Deadpool on his way out of the lab and gave the costumed mercenary a saucy wink before continuing on.

[…]

{…}

[I’m not sure how to respond to that.]

“Deadpool!” snarled a voice and he turned to see old Iron Dick himself in the door of the lab.

“Hey Tin Can!” said Deadpool amiably.

{I hate him. Why can’t we kill him? He’s not in his suit now; it would be easy.}

[Because we’re trying _not_ to kill people, dumbass.]

Tony Stark’s face suffused with rage.

{Does it _count_ as killing him if we give him a stroke?}

[That’s—a good question, actually. Hmm. We’ll have to ask Spiderman later.]

“Deadpool,” said Tony with a deep breath, “why are you in my tower?”

“To annoy you!”

Deadpool almost heard the audible snapping of Tony’s last nerve. “Mission completed, asshole! Now get out!”

Deadpool danced out of the lab and out of the tower with a huge grin under his mask.

[We’re going to be stalking that poor boy, aren’t we?]

{But—he’s not scared of us!}

[Not _yet_ , but nothing says, “Oh, I’m a big scary person,” quite like a scarlet and black two meter tall leather clad _stalker_!]

Deadpool sighed. “White,” he said ignoring the stares of the people around him, “you’re such a kill joy. And we don’t need to stalk _him_ , just Shiny Dick.”

[Why are we doing this again?]

{He wasn’t scared of us!}

“I already told you,” said an irritated voice, “everything I know!” Deadpool rounded a corner and saw the fabulous Parker, still in lab coat, in conversation with a man in a cheap, three piece suit.

Deadpool sidled over and saw the man glaring at the boy. “This is a serious situation,” the man said.

“You think _I_ don’t know that?” demanded Peter.

“She’s been missing for months—”

“I just found her while I was out—”

“Yeah, you just _happen_ to find a lot of them while you’re ‘out’,” snarled the man.

“Ooo!” interrupted Deadpool as he draped himself all over the sexy scientist—who didn’t scream and try to run away. “What are we talking about?”

The man blanched and took a step back before taking a couple of deep breaths. “Last night, we received an emergency call from this guy,” he said with a point, “who had found a child beaten and left to die in an alley.”

“So he saved the child!” said Deadpool. He looked down at Parker who looked back up with wide eyes. Not frightened eyes; he knew that expression well. He wasn’t really sure what emotion was in the young man’s eyes.

[He might not even be LEGAL!]

Deadpool turned back to the officer. “It sounds like he deserves a medal,” he said and the young man in his arms let out a breathy chuckle. “It does!”

“I couldn't do _anything_ ,” Parker said. “All I could do was call for help.”

“And that’s more than most people do,” Deadpool assured him before looking at the man. “And you know that. Why are you harassing this totally bootylicious—”

“Wait, what?”

“—good Samaritan who is _way_ too fascinated by swords—seriously kid, you freak me out just a little bit and are you even legal? Oh, you have _got_ to be legal or I have to turn myself in for unnatural desires towards a minor!”

“I’m twenty,” the scientist said looking up at Deadpool.

[This is weird. People are normally screaming to get away at this point. Why isn’t he?]

{Because he’s awesome!}

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” the man said before turning and stalking off.

Parker sighed and relaxed. Actually _relaxed_ , in _Deadpool’s_ grip. The merc was shocked. _No one_ relaxed when Deadpool was around.

[Something is off about this kid.]

{But he’s legal. You did hear that, right? LEGAL!}

The kid looked up and grinned at him. “Thanks for saving me,” he said.

Deadpool suddenly felt bashful and nervous. Being thanked for saving someone wasn’t something that usually happened. “Aw, shucks,” he said nervously releasing the kid and stepping back. “I’m no hero.”

The kid frowned. “What? Of course you are, you just saved me.”

“Aw, you only think I’m a hero because you don’t know who I am.”

“Deadpool, master mercenary,” said the kid suddenly, startling him. “You managed to complete the chimichanga challenge at _Mama Maria’s_ Mexican restaurant last month.” At the silence he waved a nervous hand. “I part-time at a paper and covered the story. Not that anyone _published_ the story,” he muttered.

[I remember that chimichanga. It was so huge it made our stomach burst.]

{Eh, we healed anyway. _And_ Spidey got to eat for free, so…}

[He always eats for free when we pay.]

{But he nearly bust a gut laughing at us! It was great!}

Deadpool ignored the voices in his head and held out his hand. “Deadpool, also known as the Fantastic Wade Winston Wilson, at your service.”

The boy grinned. “Peter Parker,” he said as he shook Deadpool’s hand. “Hey, since all your names start with ‘W’, can I call you Triple?”

“Sure thing, Baby Boy,” said Deadpool teasingly. Peter laughed.

[…we are in _so_ much trouble.]

{I thought we were in love with Spidey?}


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is trying to figure out what to do.

Tony tapped at the wood to the side of keyboard in irritation as he glared at the screen. On the screen was a puzzle that he couldn't solve; a puzzle he _had_ to solve. The puzzle of the brilliant lab assistant who refused to be promoted.

He had (briefly) considered that the boy might be a spy for Norman, given his connection to Norman’s son (he knew who the other spies were, of course, but better to keep your enemies close)—but the lab he was in only dealt with mundane tasks, mainly prep for other labs. Setting up petri dishes, cutting test strips—supplies, mostly. And while it was (barely) possible that he was in place for sabotage, the sad fact of the matter was that there were so many redundancy protocols that there was no way for him to do damage to the company from his current position. Not that he had any evidence the boy had _tried_ to sabotage him.

The boy was more than brilliant—he was intuitive. He could look at a problem, see what was wrong with the problem, and then fix it. It was amazing. He was wasted as a lab assistant.

The door to Tony’s office opened and one of his up-and-coming researchers, Gwen Stacy, came in. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Stark?” she asked politely.

He’d asked the staff to stop calling him that. They had, politely, refused. He shook his head; he’d deal with the issue again later. He tapped the hologram pulling up the picture of Peter. “Do you know who this is?” he asked.

“No,” she said with curiosity.

He nodded. Why would one of his best researchers know a lowly lab assistant? He pushed the file over the desk to her and she flipped through it, pausing to exclaim at it. “He’s a lab assistant in one of the lower labs,” Tony said as she read the file. “He wrote that.”

She looked up at him startled and adjusted her glasses. “He _wrote_ this? Why is he still in the lower lab?”

“He won’t accept a higher position,” drawled Tony.

She sighed. “That’s a shame,” she said, truly regretful.

“Tempt him,” ordered Tony. She looked up, startled. “Show him the best the labs can be; show him what he’s missing. Tempt him to get his own lab.” Tony frowned at the documents on the table. “I was trying to do that myself, but Pepper pointed out that I was just seeding dissent in the lab he’s in right now.”

She winced. “I think you’ve broken whatever cohesion might be in the poor boy’s lab,” she said grimly.

“He should have his own lab,” said Tony without remorse.

Gwen sighed. “I wish,” she said ruefully, “that you had asked me about this _before_ you poisoned the well.” When Tony frowned, she explained. “Things get tense every time the boss wonders around the labs. This poor boy has probably been getting flak from his coworkers.”

“Why would I make things tense?” asked Tony, honestly clueless. Every time he met Bruce the other man would sigh ( _honestly Tony, get out of my lab before the other guy shows and wrecks everything throwing you out_ ).

Gwen stared at him for a moment. Suddenly she turned. “Pepper!” she called out.

Pepper opened the door and looked at Gwen. “I’m working on it,” she said.

“Did you know—”

“That Tony had developed an odd fascination with a lab assistant who happens to be childhood friends with the only child of his arch rival and seems determined to put the boy in his own lab? Yes, I knew.” Pepper turned to Tony, ginger hair sparkling in the light. “And you have a meeting.”

Tony, thrown by the sudden change in topic, floundered. “A meeting? With who?”

“The jackass who wants to increase product testing trials.”

Memory snapped into place. “Ah. _That_ idiot.” He got out of his seat, intent on taking an enemy down. It didn’t matter that this was the enemy of the boardroom rather than the world—they’d all topple. “Very well. Let’s get this meeting started.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is alone with Deadpool in the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings here; this chapter is all fun! :)

Peter walked into the lab like every other morning—and paused. The only person in the lab was Deadpool. He leaned out and peered around. There was no sign of the people assigned to his lab, anywhere.

Maybe they had moved to another lab without telling him. It wouldn't be the first time, not since Tony started harassing him. He remembered one occasion where he’d started preparing the test strips like he was supposed to only to have maintenance come in and inform him that, for safety reasons, the entire lab had been moved to another floor.

But this time, Deadpool was in the lab. And _that_ meant Peter could do something he didn’t normally have time (or energy) to do—indulge himself.

He grinned at the masked mercenary. “Hey Triple,” he said conspiratorially, “wanna make some _slime_?”

He could see (and how Deadpool got a leather/Kevlar mix suit to be so expressive was beyond him) the other man blink. Then he grinned under the mask. “Oh, baby,” he said happily. “I’d _love_ to make slime.”

“Great!” Grinning widely Peter walked to the supply cabinet and pulled out what he needed. “This will be fun,” he hummed happily.

“No, I thought so too.”

“Hmm?” Peter turned in the middle of preparing.

“Nothing. So, what kind of slime are we making?”

“Well, there are several different kinds.” He laid out the ingredients for them. “Mirror slime, clear slime, fluffy slime—no glitter slime, sadly, since I don’t have any glitter.” He sighed.

“Oh, _I_ have _glitter_!” gloated Deadpool. Peter turned to see the masked mercenary holding a jar of rainbow glitter the size of his head. He glanced at the fanny-pack—it was way too small for the jar.

Meh. It was Deadpool; just roll with it.

Peter grinned. “Excellent,” he crooned. He swiftly mixed his concoctions. “Hey,” he asked as an idea struck him, “how do you feel about making them all with the rainbow glitter?”

“Oh, me likey,” crooned the larger man as he bent around Peter to see what the mad scientist was cooking up.

Deadpool had been getting into Spiderman’s personal space for so long that Peter thought nothing of the close contact. In fact—it was soothing. He _knew_ , on his deepest levels, that Deadpool would never hurt him.

“So—do we get to play with this slime?” asked Deadpool as the different types took form.

Peter hummed happily. “Not yet,” he said as he mixed up the last batch. “First—we make them dance.”

“Dance?”

At the question Peter shoved himself away from the workspace, went to the speaker in the corner of the room (usually hogged by the lab supervisor), and plugged in his phone. “Nothing like the classics,” he said smugly as the music beat filled the lab.

Then the lyrics began. “Old Godzilla was hoppin’ around, Tokyo City like a big playground,” sang the artist.

The slime in the tubs began to shiver with the beat and Deadpool cooed as he leaned closer and Peter nodded in time with the music.

“This is the Ultimate Showdown—of Ultimate Destiny. Good guys bad guys and explo—sions, as far as the eye can see.”

The slime, as Peter had built it to, began to pop up and down in the dishes as the music picked up speed. The movement slowed as the beat slowed, and then it got to the fun part of the song.

“Then Gandalf the Gray and Gandalf the White and Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s Black Knight—”

The slime began to vibrate faster and Peter gently grabbed Deadpool by his katana sheaths and pulled him out of the blast radius.

“—Robocop and Terminator, Captain Kirk and Darth Vader—”

The door to the lab opened—just as the slime exploded onto everything—except for Peter and Deadpool, who had gotten out of the way.

Slime mixed liberally with rainbow glitter dripped down the two unhappy scientists in the doorway. Peter laughed nervously. “Oops,” he said as he hurriedly turned off the music. “So—sorry Dr. Chambers,” he said, the horrible stutter returning as he began to try and clean the mess.

Dr. Chambers wiped some of the slime off his face as he glared at the lab assistant. “Parker,” he said evenly. “What were you doing?”

Deadpool suddenly draped himself around Peter’s body and tucked his chin over Peter’s collarbone. “We were making sliiime!” the manic man said, drawing the word into three syllables. “And not the kind I thought when he asked, but this is just as good and do you realize you have an almost perfect row of pink sparkles accenting your left eyebrow?”

Peter glanced at the lab supervisor and saw that Deadpool was right—there was an almost perfect row of pink glitter—almost like it had been done on purpose. He lowered his head so that no one could see his grin.

The female scientist with him wiped slime off her face as she looked into the lab with a similar expression to that of a cat that accidentally got doused with a bucket of water. “I think,” she said tartly, “that we all need to clean up.” She pivoted on one heel and stalked out of the lab as the supervisor shook his head at Peter before he followed her.

Which, oddly enough, triggered a question for Deadpool. He looked up into the expressive mask and asked, “What did you think I meant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMEUZgNplDA
> 
> In case you were wondering about the song.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has an idea. Maybe not his best one, or maybe his best one ever. Reader decide.

Tony’s fingers tapped at the wood beside his keyboard with irritation as he watched the hologram. How? Just how had this happened? He rewound the footage and played it again, mouth pressing into a thin line.

Pepper stepped into the room, read the mood, and quickly used her Stark pad to send orders. “Deadpool is in the building,” Tony said irritably.

“Yes, I’ve got security working to get him out now,” Pepper replied.

“Out?” demanded Tony as he looked at his assistant. Normally she almost seemed like she could read his mind. “Forget out—I want to see him here!”

Pepper, for the first time in years, looked floored at his request. “Here?” she asked.

“Yes; I want to have a conversation with the _mercenary_ ,” Tony said spitting the word. He rewound the scene again as he tried to piece together the mystery. No matter how he twisted it in his brain, he couldn’t figure it out. He’d have to talk to one of them, get more information, and there was only one he was allowed (according to Pepper) to talk to.

“Tony—I want to remind you that you are still mortal.”

Tony looked at Pepper and saw that she was regarding him with concern. “What?” he asked in confusion.

Light blue eyes firmly met his. “I mean Tony, you can die.”

“I know that!” Tony sighed and rubbed his face. He knew that better than she did. He wondered if he should tell her—no, he had a few years to figure out a solution. “Why are you bringing that up right now?”

“Because Deadpool can’t die.”

Tony stared at his assistant. Did she, did she really think that he was planning on _attacking_ Deadpool? That didn’t work out very well _with_ the suit. He sighed. “I just want to talk to him,” Tony told her as he rewound the footage again. “And maybe hire him,” he added under his breath as Pepper tapped out new orders.

Deadpool (surprisingly) cooperated with security to get to Tony’s office. “You know,” the masked madman said conversationally, “the last time I tried to break in here your building shunted me to the sewers? It took forever to clean my suit! Yeah, I know I ended up burning it. That’s not the point—it _would_ have taken forever.” A pause. “Well, fuck you too.”

Tony could feel his eye starting to twitch. How? Just how? He tapped a few things and the security footage he’d been re-watching played in the air between them showing Deadpool going into a lab. Saw the mysterious lab assistant Peter go into the lab. And then, somehow, the two of them spend about twenty minutes having fun. (The clinical part of his brain noted that, if they could figure out how to keep the slime from exploding, it would be a great toy for children.)

Tony pointed and a red circle appeared around Peter on the screen. “This is Peter,” he said.

“I know. Petey-pie introduced himself.”

Tony barely managed to keep from twitching at the overly affectionate nickname. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was information he had to get from the man, and he wasn’t going to get it if he lost his temper. “Deadpool,” he said slowly, “how do you talk to Peter?”

“I open my mouth and words come out.”

Tony’s hand twitched. If he’d been in suit Deadpool would have been hit with a plasma blast and be healing from the gaping hole as Pepper yelled at him for destroying _another_ wall. He took another deep breath. “Peter,” he said slowly, trying not to give into the rising urge to attack the man in his office, “is a genius.”

“Yup!”

“I’ve offered him his own lab.”

“He could do a lot with that,” agreed Deadpool cheerfully. “No he wouldn't! Remember the slime?”

Tony’s eye began to twitch again. “He refused.”

“What? Why?” Deadpool looked shocked.

Tony wasn’t sure how. “I don’t know. All I get is ‘there are more qualified people’ which is, quite frankly, bullshit. There isn’t another person in that lab that could see the medical applications of titanium, and I’d love to throw some vibranium his way and see what he does with that. I want to hire you Deadpool.”

“I don’t kill people anymore,” Deadpool stated.

And he didn’t. The whole thing almost made Tony twitch again. He’d stopped killing around the same time he’d met Spiderman for the first time. He considered, just for a moment, hiring Deadpool to find out who Spiderman was—but no. No, that was _his_ job and he hadn’t failed at it yet.

“But you talk to people,” Tony stated firmly. “You talk to Peter. Find out why he won’t take his own lab.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll pay forty-five thousand dollars.”

“Sold!” Deadpool got up from his chair and literally danced out of the office before sticking his head back in. “You know,” he sang at Tony, “this means you can’t kick me out any-more!”

“Do you really think that was a good idea?” Pepper asked as he left.

He knew what she was asking. Did he really think the overly modest lab assistant was worth that kind of money? “Yes. You didn’t read that paper, Pep. The kid is brilliant; it’s a waste for him to be tinkering with basic supplies.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I mean,” she clarified, “is it a good idea to send _Deadpool_ , the insane, unstable mercenary, after Peter?”

Tony froze. He hadn’t thought of that. “It’ll be fine.”

“Right,” said Pepper. Neither of them mentioned how much like a prayer that sounded.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something exciting happens in the basement.
> 
> Get your mind out of the gutter.

“You really don’t mind?” asked Peter as Wade took half the boxes. None of them were heavy (not that it would matter to Peter if they were), but they were bulky and awkward and full of important papers whose next destination was the furnace in the basement.

“Oh, Petey-Pie!” Wade gently bopped Peter’s nose with a gloved finger and his nose involuntarily twitched in response. “Eee!” squealed the man happily. “You’re like a cute little rabbit, all twitchy nose like that!”

“Stop that,” admonished Peter as a blush crawled across his cheeks and his nose twitched again.

“Right! Stopping, Sir!” Wade gave a salute as he picked up the boxes he’d dropped. “So, where are we taking these?”

“The incinerator in the basement,” Peter explained. “These papers are sensitive documents that—Wade?” He turned to see that the costumed man had fallen behind. “Triple?” he tried again, trying to get a response out of the mercenary. He stood, without moving, still holding the pile of boxes. “What’s wrong?”

There was a deep rattling sound that concerned him and then Wade bounced back up. “Just fine, yes-sirree, no trauma here.”

Peter quickly dropped the boxes (off to the side, so as not to inconvenience anyone walking through) and took the boxes Wade was holding and set them aside as well. “Hey,” he said, suddenly face to face with the guy. For the first time in a long time Peter realized how Wade was both so much _bigger_ than Peter himself was and how much smaller he managed to be at the same time.

He suddenly realized that he didn’t know much about interacting with Deadpool when he wasn’t Spiderman. “What’s wrong?” he asked again. “You can talk to me,” he added lamely.

The whites of the mask stared at him for a moment before Deadpool suddenly deflated and collapsed on top of Peter and became Wade again. “Peeeeete,” he whined. “I can’t take it Petey.”

Peter gently rubbed Deadpool’s back. If he hadn’t been Spiderman the sheer weight of the other man’s body would have sent him to the floor, but he didn’t think Deadpool knew that. And Peter knew that the cameras wouldn't be able to tell if Deadpool was holding some of his weight back or not. “Take what?” Peter asked gently, ignoring the stares of his colleagues as they passed by. They could just learn to deal.

“You keep treating me like a person, Petey,” whined Wade. “And it’s giving me ideas.”

The first part broke Peter’s heart. He didn’t know what to do with the second, so he ignored it for the moment. “Of course I am,” Peter said gently. “You _are_ a person.”

Wade snorted and pulled back just enough to look Peter in the face. “You’re one of only two people to say that.”

Peter’s heart began to race. Did Deadpool know? Did he figure it out? Actually, Peter didn’t care if Wade knew or not—but he didn’t want Wade blurting it out in the Tower!

“Do you _mind_ not flirting in the middle of the hallway?” demanded a voice behind them. Peter turned, Wade’s arms still around his shoulders to see Chloe. Who pointedly looked at the piles of boxes. “Weren’t you taking those somewhere?” she hinted.

Peter cringed at her tone. Before Tony had started focusing on him, the two of them used to joke around together. Now she resented him like everyone else in the lab did. “Right,” he said as he broke away from Wade and grabbed a stack of boxes. “Be right back,” he called back to Wade.

Wade grabbed the other stack and caught up with Peter at the elevator. “You really shouldn't be doing this all by yourself,” he told the smaller man.

Peter couldn't look at him at the moment. “It’s fine,” he said nervously.

“It’s _not_.” A pause. “That might be a good idea,” Wade said.

“What might?” asked Peter curious again.

“Nothing,” Wade said quickly. “So, what do we do in the basement? Play basement-ball? Smile for the camera? Have a quickie before anyone wonders where we went?”

Peter chuckled, cheeks flaming red. Before he could leash his mouth he said, “I can’t imagine you ever doing a ‘quickie.’ You strike me more as the type to keep going all night long.” Then he flushed scarlet and buried his face against the box in his arms in humiliation. He did _not_ just say that! Oh, yes he did.

“I think your ears might start burning. So, what do we do in the basement?”

Grateful for the change of topic Peter answered. “Well, we check to make sure the incinerator doesn’t have Puddles in it.”

“It rains in your incinerator?”

Peter chuckles. “Puddles is the Tower cat,” he explained. “I don’t know how he got his name, but we always make sure that he’s not in the incinerator before we load it up and turn it on. He gets into the strangest places.”

“A talent that I, and most other felines, have.” When Peter peeked around the box to look at him he (through the mask) waggled an eyebrow and said, “Meow.”

Peter chuckled again as the elevator let them off into the basement and he stepped off. Wade stayed in the elevator. “Are you okay?” Peter asked.

“Butter and better,” Wade said cheerfully as he hopped out of the elevator. “I gotta say Pete,” he said looking around, “this doesn’t look like an evil lair.”

Peter could feel his nose wrinkle again. “Evil lair?” he asked. “It’s just the basement.” He led the way through the bright, well-lit space towards the furnace/incinerator at the other end. “Although,” Peter admitted, “gossip has it that Stark has secret levels beneath the basement.”

“Ooo,” cooed Wade. “Kinky.”

Peter chuckled as he opened the metal hatch to the incinerator. A pair of startled golden eyes looked up at him and he sighed. “Puddles,” Peter gently scolded as he picked up the cat. She hissed and swiped at him as her belly—oh, God.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Wade said as the cat had an obvious contraction, “but your Tower cat is having kittens.”

“Oh—oh—what do we do?” asked Peter.

Wade wrapped his arms around the younger man and Peter felt himself relax into the embrace. “I think she’s got it covered,” Wade said gently. The two of them watched as the cat expelled a kitten into the world and began to clean it as she purred.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--I wrote this and thought: should I add Tony is Accidentally Cupid to the tags of this story? I feel like I should--but what do you think?

Deadpool watched the people watching the cat with fascination. Peter had quickly been pushed to the side by the new arrivals, but he didn’t seem to mind standing on the sidelines with Wade as the cat gave birth to a sixth kitten.

{We should have ripped that bitch’s arms off for the way she pushed Petey-Pie out of the way.}

[You are going to get Spiderman to hate us.]

“She _was_ rude,” muttered Wade.

Peter looked up (he was in the circle of Wade’s arms again) and said, “I don’t think she’s seen kittens born before.”

{Kiss those pink lips!}

[We’re supposed to get him to confide in us, remember? That won’t happen if we’re sexually harassing him.]

{But—but—but they’re so puffy!}

“Despicable Me reference,” muttered Wade. Most people tended to get anxious and give him space when he was talking to the boxes, even if he was doing it quietly. Peter just seemed content to stay there, in his arms, and listen to the madness. He didn’t even ask questions.

[To be fair, Tony doesn’t get anxious when you talk to us.]

{He just wants to kill us! But he _can’t_!}

Wade winced as Yellow’s unmusical laughter danced through his head. “Are you all right?” Peter asked. Softly, so as not to attract attention.

Wade chuckled low and soft and gently chucked Peter under the chin. “Peachy-keen Petey-Pie,” he said.

Peter frowned, clearly not believing him, and opened his mouth to say something when Pepper walked into the basement holding a cardboard box. Behind her, like uncomfortable puppy, trailed the dark haired former Winter Soldier himself, Bucky Barnes.

[Good timing. The kid doesn’t need to be burdened by our insanity.]

{Didn’t you hear him earlier? He’s legal. LEGAL. L to the E to the G to the—}

[DON’T YOU DARE!]

“All right everybody,” Pepper announced firmly. “As soon as the cat is finished giving birth, we’ll put her and the kittens in this box and then the incinerator will be back in working order.”

“That cat is going to shred your arms if you go to move her,” said the blonde that had pushed Peter out of her way to watch the cat give birth.

Pepper jerked a thumb to Bucky. “That’s why _he’s_ here.” Bucky waved his metal arm at the people around them. “Now, it _is_ in the middle of the work day—so get back to work!” Pepper ordered. The chaos began to straighten out as people, muttering to themselves the whole time, filed out of the basement.

{See? See? We’re just like the other people!}

[We are _nothing_ like the other people! They only have one person in their heads!]

{ _You_ don’t know that!}

Peter went to leave with the others, but Deadpool’s arms tightened around him. He looked at the boxes he’d been supposed to put in the incinerator and then bit his lip. He was clearly torn between not wanting to get Pepper’s attention and leaving without completing his job. Deadpool didn’t know what was in those files that made them need to be burned so badly, but Peter was determined to do his job properly. Of course he was.

{Petey is a sweetie!}

[Shut up you psycho. You’re going to make me barf.]

“Peter.” The boy jumped when Pepper said his name and tried to back away—but Deadpool was right behind him blocking his escape.

Peter swallowed hard. “Mi—Miss Potts,” he said softly.

Pepper sighed as she looked at the boy. “I am not going to bite your head off,” she told him pertly. “I just came to ask if you’re being bothered.”

“I’m sure Mr. Stark doesn’t mean it,” began Peter.

Wade couldn't help it. He burst out laughing and hugged the cute boy to him tighter. “She’s talking about me,” he informed the innocent child.

He could see Peter’s nose wrinkle in confusion. “Why would I be bothered by you?” he asked.

The genuine innocence of the question took Deadpool’s breath away for a moment. “Oh, you sweetie!” he exclaimed as he rubbed his cheek against Peter’s.

[…I like this kid.]

{We should keep him forever!}

Pepper’s mouth twitched as Bucky, behind her, coughed. “Yes. Deadpool is known for being—extreme. And I heard about the slime.”

Peter winced.

{KILL HER!}

[Down!]

“I’m sorry,” said Peter.

Bucky scoffed from where he stood. “Don’t worry about it. We all know Chambers has a stick up his ass. And it’s not like the slime tried to _eat_ him,” he added.

Peter relaxed—slightly. Pepper continued talking. “And I know just what to do with the cat and her kittens,” she said with a grim smile that made _Deadpool_ tremble slightly.

“What are you going to do?” asked Deadpool with morbid fascination. He knew, because of all the cat pics on Pepper’s Facebook page, that she would never do anything to hurt the little things—but that was an _evil_ smile.

“I’ll put them on Tony’s desk. It’ll give him something besides Peter to focus on.”

“I don’t know why he’s focused on me!” protested Peter. Deadpool could hear the panic hiding in his desperate voice.

{Hug him close! It makes him feel better!}

[That’s—actually a good idea.]

Since all three of them agreed (and solely because they wanted to make Peter feel better and not because it felt nice having Peter in his arms and tucked in close), Wade gently tightened his hold on Peter. Who, predictably, relaxed.

[We’re going to have to figure out why that happens. It’s not normal.]

{Just LIVE it!]

Pepper sighed. “Peter,” she said wearily, “you have the unfortunate distinction of being one of four people who have told Tony ‘no’.”

“Five,” corrected Bucky.

“Excuse me?” Pepper turned to look at him and he shrugged, fearlessly.

“Five,” Bucky repeated. “Steve also said ‘no’.”

“Since,” said Pepper frostily, “neither you nor Steve actually _insisted_ and did, in fact, end up doing it _anyway_ , the two of you don’t count.” She turned back to Peter and Wade. She looked at Peter with something like—pity? Sympathy? Wade wasn’t sure. “The other three are Howard, Tony’s father, me, and Spiderman. So you’re in good company.”

_That_ had Deadpool’s attention. “Webs told Tin Dick ‘no’?” he asked. “To what?” He’d always thought the two of them had gotten along remarkably (and disgustingly) well. What in the world could Iron Man ask that Spiderman wouldn't agree to?

Pepper didn’t hold anything back. “Tony asked Spiderman to tell him who he was,” she said calmly.

Too calmly. Heroes just were _not_ supposed to do that to each other. “What?” he demanded harshly.

[Think it’s connected to the suit who wanted to hire us for the same thing?]

{No wonder Spidey said ‘no’!}

“He wanted to know Spiderman’s identity,” Pepper calmly repeated, eyes on Deadpool.

“That’s wrong,” said Deadpool with uncharacteristic seriousness. He tried to meet Pepper’s eyes with his own, but she could only see the whites of his mask. “You know it’s wrong. Spidey has a reason he hasn’t told anyone who he is.”

A single eyebrow rose gently. “Has he told you?”

“I’m not asking,” said Deadpool firmly. He didn’t notice his grip tightened on Peter. “I know Webs. If he hasn’t told anyone who he is, he has a _reason_ , a _good_ reason.”

“Wade?” asked Peter.

Wade realized he was squeezing tight enough to hurt and released. “Sorry baby,” he said. “Are you okay?”

{No! Don’t let him go! He fits so nicely in our arms!}

The adorable nose scrunched up again. “I’m stronger than I look,” he said.

A harsh, metallic screeching mixed with hissing brought their attention to the cats as Barnes scooped them out of the furnace and into the padded box. “Done,” he said as he handed the box with its still hissing cats to Pepper. He looked at Wade. “I happen to agree,” he said softly. “But you know how Tony is.”

Deadpool snorted. “That’s why he built a tower shaped like a giant purple dick,” he said. He grinned as Peter snorted with stifled laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, in this AU, the tower really does look like that--I'll go into more detail later. And no, this AU is not canon compliant. Expect deviations as my brain twists the landscape.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter at Oscorp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I show more about what's happening between Peter and his coworkers in his frantic little life, and I may have been a little bit hungry when I wrote this. Bite me. Better yet--send food. I don't get paid until Wednesday.

Peter stared at the lab order. Normally he got through these orders by pretending they had mundane uses. Scratch that—they  _did_ have mundane uses. Even though Oscorp primarily sold weapons, the things that Peter most frequently invented there had lifesaving applications.

Hard to see any lifesaving applications for “organic incendiary” though. Peter ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through the motions to create something so detrimental to—to  _life…_

“ _You’re late Peter.”_

Peter closed his eyes as the pale, sweat-soaked face of his best friend swam in his mind. Was—was this why Norman had pushed Harry so close to death? Was it because  he knew that Peter would balk at this? Was it to give Peter a mental push, a reminder as to  _why_ he was donating time to Norman’s lab?

Maybe. Maybe Norman had planned it all out to the last, micromanaged detail. Or—maybe Norman was just a cold-blooded psychopath. There was no way to no for sure.

“You’re staring at that lab order like it’s going to bite you.” The amused voice came out of nowhere and Peter jumped before turning to face the speaker.

“Dr.—Dr. Octavius,” stammered Peter as he faced the frizzy haired woman.

She adjusted her bulky glasses and chuckled. “Please, Peter,” she said warmly. “Call me Liv.”  She held out a hand. “Come on,” she said gently. “Take a break from the work. Let’s get something to eat.”

Peter didn’t really have time. He still had to get to the Bugle (which actually paid him—not much, but more than Norman did) and had to patrol. But—he also needed food.

Norman was a manipulative, sadistic bastard. Everyone could agree on that. Everyone agreed that Tony Stark, Norman’s closest competitor, was better in every way.

Except one. When Norman fed his employees (even those like Peter that didn’t get anything in the way of pay except his best friend continuing to live for another day) he did just that. He fed them. The food was paid for—by Norman. Stark Industries had cafeterias, and the employees had to buy their own food. The one thing that Peter would say that Oscorp was better than SI in was that: at Oscorp every employee—from the cleaning and maintenance crews on up—got free food. Sometimes, Norman would even feed the press.

Peter wasn’t sure why.  Being so generous as to offer  _free_ food to  _every_ person who worked at Oscorp (no matter how unwillingly) seemed to go against everything that Peter knew about Norman. He would have thought that Norman would leech the money he gave his (paid) staff through exorbitantly priced food or simply have vending machines everywhere instead of cafeterias with real, live chefs. (The chefs were actually students who were getting working hours and experience with real food service—and were also allowed to eat for free.) It didn’t make sense.

“Hey Peter,” called one of the lab techs as Dr. Octavius took him down to the cafeteria.

“Hey Liv, any progress on those algorithms?”

“I thought I’d run them by our little genius,” Dr. Octavius said cheerfully. 

T he mood in the Oscorp labs was very different as well. The biggest difference was that no one at Oscorp ostracized Peter. The others might not know exactly what he did for the company, but they knew that Dr. Octavius approved of him, that he worked on top secret projects, and that he never tried to pull rank on anyone. After the chill of his coworkers at SI, the warm camaraderie at Oscorp was almost a balm on his soul.

He hated feeling that way about anything to do with Norman.

“Now, sit!” Dr. Octavius ordered pushing Peter into a chair. “I’ll go get us food.” She readjusted her bulky glasses before heading towards the order hatch.

Another doctor (PhD) that Peter was familiar with plopped his tray on the table next to Peter. “Coming to the Dark Side?” he asked with a deep voice and a quick smile. “We get better food,” he added tantalizingly as he wiggled his tray.

Peter almost drooled at the sight of the  food. Thin strips of meat, crusted on the outside with some kind of seasoning, rested on a bed of almost completely clear noodles and drizzled with a dark brown sauce that smelled  _amazing_ . Next to it was a serving of vegetables—just cooked long enough to be both soft and seasoned— and a small bowl of a light brown soup with a single mushroom floating at the top of it.

Peter quickly swallowed before he could actually start to drool and flushed as his stomach growled. “What is that?” he asked.

Dr. Conners shrugged his one arm. “Don’t know,” he said cheerfully. “This cook only knows three English words; ‘no,’ ‘water,’ and ‘weapon’.” The doctor grabbed his fork and speared some of the meat before putting it in his mouth and moaning. “Good cook though,” he mumbled through his food.

Dr. Octavius kicked his chair as she walked by with a tray in each hand. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonished him as she set a tray each in front of Peter and herself.

Peter’s tray was the same as Dr. Conners, and Dr. Octavius’s tray looked like a vegan version. “ Thank you,” Peter said politely before he took the fork and got some of the meat.

It melted on his tongue, a mix of savory, crunch and spice with just the slightest bit of heat. It was one of the best things that Peter had ever eaten. He bet if he could get Deadpool to try it, the merc would like it better than Mexican. Peter leaned over until he could see the serving hatch and the little old man standing behind it. He waved and the man nodded with a huge smile on his face as Peter settled back in his seat and went back to eating.

“Told you,” Dr. Conners said with a wink.

“Told him what?” 

“That here on the dark side we have better food.”

Dr. Octavius chuckled as she took a sip of her soup. “You shouldn't call it ‘the dark side’,” she said. “Ah, this is good,” she added with a fond look at the small cup.

Peter took a sip of his own soup—and had to agree. The soup was good. The  _food_ was good. And despite being in the lair of a man he truly hated, Peter began to slowly relax.  He was eating good food and talking with people who didn’t (at least at this very minute) either want to kill him, wish him dead, want money he didn’t have, or any one of a million other things that people had been doing to him, and to his alter ego lately.

“After all,” Dr. Octavius said, “Norman’s donated almost two million dollars to Runaways Unite.”

“Only because Stark donated a hundred thousand,” pointed out Dr. Conners.

Peter kept his silence. He had his own problems with Runaways Unite. On the surface it seemed like a nonprofit organization designed to help with the street children, but Spiderman had had to rescue more than one child from them as they were determined to put the children back in the very situations that they ran from—with no regard to the child’s safety. Naturally, The Daily Bugle wholeheartedly approved of the organization.

“So,” said Dr. Octavius turning her attention to Peter. “I hear that Stark offered you your own lab over there.”

Dr. Conners sighed and saluted Peter with his soup bowl. “We’ll miss you,” he said.

Peter glanced away. “I haven’t taken the offer,” he said softly.

_Yet._

The single word hung in the air between the three of them. Because right now Norman held Harry’s life over Peter’s head—but he couldn't do it forever. They’d find a way around Norman, a way for Harry to have a normal life. And, maybe, Peter could be at Harry’s and Mary Jan’s wedding. Or not. Perhaps the two of them would end up with other people, people who weren’t traumatized by what Norman had put them all through. But—maybe.

And there was no way that Peter was going to give support to the man who regularly  _threatened to kill his child_ just to control Peter.

“So,” said Dr. Octavius changing the subject again, “why were you glaring at the lab order?”

Should he? Would they understand? Well, probably not, but it couldn't hurt. “Norman wants me to develop an organic incendiary,” he said. “I don’t like something that could—well…” Peter trailed off, not sure what to say.

To his surprise, Dr. Octavius nodded and absently moved her trademark colorful scarf out of the way before it fell into her food. “You’ve got to look after the environment,” she said knowingly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Dr. Conners looked thoughtful. “What if if,” he said slowly, “instead of something that targeted all organic matter, it was something that could be used to target something specifically?”

“Ooo,” said Dr. Octavius. “Like cancer cells. If you set it fine enough, you can target a single type of cancer and knock it out!” She grinned and adjusted her glasses. “Does that help?” she asked.

Peter’s mind began to whirl. “Yes,” he said thinking about the positive ramifications (and willfully ignoring the warlike use Norman was going to put them to). “Thank you,” he said shyly before he turned his attention back to his food.

After all, he knew better than to give good food anything less than his undivided attention.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more about Oscorp.

Liv gently blew on her tea as Norman paced her lab. “We’re getting somewhere.” She chuckled. “Conners was even helping—not that he meant to.”

Norman sighed and paused as he stared at the tiny circuit board that was Liv’s current attention. “How?” he asked.

Liv chuckled before she deliberately lowered her voice in an imitation of Conners. “Come to the Dark Side Peter; we have better food.” Liv cocked her head to the side as she regarded her boss. “ And we do,” she added in a more natural tone. “One might wonder why.”

Norman snorted as he turned away from the project and leaned against the lab bench. “One might—until one accounts for how much time is spent away from work by people having lunch. Deciding where to go. Actually going. Heading back. These meals have upped productivity—especially among the custodial staff—by a good twenty percent. Change the cooks to keep people from getting bored, and the investment more than pays off.” He pierced the scientist with a look. “And Peter?” he asked.

Liv sighed. She understood more than Norman thought she did. Yes, Peter was a genius, right up there with the likes of Tony Stark and Reed Richards. Yes, the kid could easily intuit answers that other minds, arguably just as intelligent, failed to reach. None of those answers were why Norman was so desperate to get Peter into Oscorp.

She also knew better than to mention it. With all of the hazardous materials that Oscorp used, it was all too easy for a scientist to disappear. “I don’t know what’s happening at Stark Industries,” she said thoughtfully as she stirred her tea, “but Peter is not happy there. He relaxed while the three of us were sitting together, and that’s never happened before.” She took a sip—still too hot. “He also unbent enough to help me with my algorithms.” She gestured to the project on the bench. “The first part of that should be up and running by Tuesday, thanks to that.”

Norman relaxed. The difference between Norman tense and Norman relaxed was minute, and indiscernible—unless someone happened to know that knowing the difference could mean the difference between life and death. “ He’s coming around?” asked Norman.

She snorted. “He’s more likely to now more than ever— _what_ were you thinking asking him to make an ‘organic incendiary’ anyway? You know the kid feels the need to  _save_ people.”

Norman grimaced. “Impossible contract,” he explained. “They hold too much of the company to say ‘no’ and I don’t have the abilities. Peter’s the brightest star we have—if he failed I could just say we tried.”

Liv grimaced. She knew exactly who he was talking about. “Well, trying to wrap his mind around the lab order almost split him apart, so I steered him in another direction. Instead of something that can simply wipe out organic matter, he’s going to develop something that wipe out  _specific_ organic matter.”

“Like dogs over cats?” hazarded Norman.

Liv chuckled. Norman was many things—but one of his main failings was his inability to  think  _small_ . “Like mutated cancer cells over normal, healthy cells.”

Norman stared at her and she knew what he was wondering. “Yes, it is possible. Peter already has several ideas on how to get it done and even if none of them work  you’ll still get lucrative patents out of them.” She took another sip of her tea and then a larger gulp when she realized it was finally at the perfect temperature. “On another note, how’s the other project going?”

Norman scowled again. He glared across the lab. “Poorly. You’d think that a vigilante who bleeds all over the city would be easier to get a blood sample from.”

Liv hid her smile behind the coffee cup. “It’ll be even harder now,” she commented thoughtfully. When he looked at her she added, “Deadpool is back in town.”

Norman frowned—for a moment. “Ah. Yes, I’ve heard about Deadpool. Most—protective of the little wonder.”

Liv snorted. “I doubt you’ll be able to use the same method to control Deadpool that you use to control Peter,” she told him. “First of all—you’d have to know Spiderman’s identity. Second,” she ticked the points off with her non-dominant hand, “you’d have  to somehow fend off the other ‘heroes.’ The boy seems popular with them.”

Norman snorted. “I can handle the other heroes,” he said confidently.

“But can you handle losing Peter?” asked Liv shrewdly. Norman was silent and tense—again, only slightly. _Almost_ unnoticeable. “Devoid this city of its heroes and that’s exactly what you’ll do.” Norman scowled and she shrugged. “Why not go the classic route? Hire him?”

Norman snorted. “Deadpool isn’t taking jobs,” he said. “And especially not these kind of jobs.”

“The man’s got to eat somehow.”

“True.” Norman sighed and pushed away from the bench. “I’ll look into it.” He stalked out of the lab.

Liv shook her head. Norman may have been a genius, may have been a businessman, but he had some peculiar blind spots. She wondered, idly, what had caused them.

The cabinet door beneath the lab bench slowly inched open. “Is he gone?” asked her assistant in a hushed tone.

Liv chuckled again. “He’s gone,” she assured the timid young girl. She watched the child fondly as she climbed out. The girl was excellent as support, easily able to grasp tough topics and help with the main objectives—but she had no  _initiative_ . She’d never  _be_ anything other than support, no matter how long she worked in a lab.

Unlike Peter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter in an alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this Ellie isn't Wade's daughter, but that Ellie is also in this fic. Sorry for the confusion.

Ellie lurked in the alley behind Mr. Parker’s apartment. She was—wary of the man. Yeah. Wary. That was the reason she was there, making sure he made it home in one piece.

She didn’t quite know what to make of Mr. Parker. He wasn’t like other grown-ups, or even teens who roamed the streets. He didn’t ask the same questions.

“ _What’s your name sweetie? Where do you live?”_

Mr. Parker asked, _“Did you hit your head? Is anyone trying to kill you at this very moment?”_

Mr. Parker—cared.

No, he didn’t. None of them did. No, Mr. Parker wanted something from the children. She just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

He didn’t want money. She remembered when Tiny had tried to give him part of his loot as “payment” for the medical treatment Mr. Parker was giving them. She still remembered what the man had said.

“ _This isn’t mine, it’s yours. And knock off with the stealing—you don’t want the local gangs to think you’re competition.”_

Which—fair enough. They had to watch out less for the teens and their gangs now that they took up new, alternative methods of income. Again, thanks to Mr. Parker.

“ _There are always tourists who want to by some handmade crap so they can brag to their friends back home about the big city. There are always people who need help with their groceries and other purchases. Even young as you are you can find legitimate work—and always work in pairs. The buddy system was invented for a_ reason _.”_

So, they’d set it up. Their most artistic and crafty people made cheap trinkets to sell to tourists, while the faster, nimbler ones kept watch for the cops and gangs. They still got caught, on occasion—but not as much. And Mr. Parker—didn’t want any of their money.

She’d _thought_ he wanted sex when he offered tutoring—but no. When he said he wanted to teach them he meant, _reading, writing, and basic math_. Not the other thing that the other man had wanted—before she’d cut his part off.

Other adults wanted to know where the children hid. Mr. Parker asked, _“Is it safe? If the city is attacked by another alien from the sky, will it hold? Can your enemies find it?”_ After listening to his questions the kids had scoured the city and found another, better hiding place. And Mr. Parker never asked where it was.

She’d almost think that he didn’t care—except for the way he treated the children. He always stopped for them, always made time for them (and he didn’t have much time to spare between his three jobs—how did someone actually get hired for _both_ Stark and Oscorp _at the same time_ , and _why would they want to_?), and even fed them when he could. When someone was injured so badly that he _had_ to call for help, he always— _always—_ gave the children time to get out of the area if they could before he did.

But he wanted something. Everyone did. She just had to figure out what that something was.

A sharp scent of ozone made her sneeze and she turned to see glowing pink light forming in the alley. She quickly ducked behind the dumpster as she watched what was happening.

“ _Knowledge is power. It can be useful in the future even if it’s useless now.”_

Ellie was a very good study.

The glowing pink light swirled with darker pink in the middle as a human—or human like figure—stepped out. As soon as the figure was through the light—vanished. As fast as when someone flipped a light switch.

The figure sighed, and pushed long hair back. “How long this time?” it mused in a distinctly feminine voice. It pushed up sleeves to reveal a pale forearm—before quickly pushing up the other sleeve. “Sixty _days_ ?” the figure demanded. “Why? How? Ugh.” It turned and glared into the darkness of the alley. “This thing really should have come with more instructions. Ick.” The figure, having apparently stepped in something, scraped the bottom of a bare foot against the wall. “And, once again, what the Hell happened to my shoes? Seriously, can’t they build one of these this suckers that _doesn’t_ eat footwear? Ugh.” The figure reached behind itself—

The hair on the back of Ellie’s neck rose into the air as there was a smaller, more muted glow of gold, a hint of geometric design, and then the hand—vanished. If Ellie wasn’t concentrating on not being seen she would have screamed. She swallowed as the hand returned—complete with a pair of shoes.

“Can’t believe I have to do this _every time_ ,” grumbled the figure as it put on the shoes. “This is insane. Right.” After tying the shoes the figure looked around. “I still have a job to do. Ugh. This is _not_ going to be pleasant. Do we care? I thought not. Okay.” Suddenly two sweeping wings spread out from the figure’s back and it launched into the air. The dumpster was the only thing that protected Ellie from the wind created. Ellie peeked around the dumpster at the now empty alley. The only evidence of what had just happened was the trash that had fluttered around in the strong wind.

What had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, does anyone recognize the new figure? (Hint: she's mine, not Marvel's.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets a new coworker at the Bugle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, fair warning. New guy isn't very nice towards Peter. To be fair, in the versions I'm most familiar with, he's not a very nice person over all.

“Peter, Jamison wants you in his office.”

Peter winced and clutched the handle of his bag defensively. “I’m not late!” he said desperately.

Beth rolled her eyes at him, purple eye shadow glinting in the office lights. “It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “He wants you in his office now.”

Peter knew better than to argue. The whole staff of the Daily Bugle knew better than to argue. He quickly made his way through the crowded halls of the Bugle to Jamison’s office and timidly knocked to introduce himself before going in. Standing at Jamison’s desk was another man, a guy with short, pitch black hair, who looked about as happy as Jamison—i.e. not at all. “I’m here, Mr. Jamison,” said Peter nervously.

“Peter, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is Peter. What have you got for me today, Peter?” demanded Jamison’s harshly. Peter could hear the crunching noise as he savagely chewed through the candy he’d taken to eating when he’d stopped smoking.

Peter quickly reached into his bag and pulled out the pictures he’d taken before handing them to his boss. “He—hello,” he stammered towards Eddie. The man just glared at him and Peter tried to retreat further into himself.

He found himself wishing, as Jamison went through the photos, that Wade was with him. He had no doubt that Wade’s presence might just antagonize his coworkers at the Bugle more—but Peter found his presence reassuring. He felt warm and safe with Wade and none of that had anything to do with how Wade was determined to not only respect Spiderman’s identity, but defend him against what anyone else had to say about the subject. Nope. Not at all.

Jamison slammed one of the photos onto the desk and Peter jumped—and then stared, confused. It wasn’t one of his best works; the lines were blurred and it was difficult to see what was going on. Why would Jamison draw attention to t his one?

“See that, Eddie?” growled Jamison. “This is the _worst_ of Parker’s photos. And this,” he added as he slammed down another one—showing Iron Man and Black Widow in battle with a faceless (literally) man, “ _This_ is the quality he usually brings me. You want his job? Do it better.”

Peter first glowed at the rare (exceptionally rare) praise until he realized  _the other man wanted his job_ . Why? The Bugle didn’t even pay that much, and Peter knew for a fact that they negotiated to sell the photos to other newspapers and sites. He cringed away from the sudden death glare he was getting from the other man.

“Parker, the printer’s acting up again,” growled Jamison.

Peter didn’t have to be told twice. “Yes, Sir,” he said quickly retreating from the office. Beth looked up and smirked at him. “You knew,” he whispered, feeling betrayed.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I knew. Just as I know that he’ll be hired anyway, because Jamison loves his turn of invective phrase. And when you’re done with the printer I need help with the website.”

Peter nodded jerkily and went to get a set of the company over-alls that they used for the printing press in the basement.  The thing was old, and was always jamming. It was easy enough to fix—and messy enough that only people at the bottom of the hierarchy (Peter) were sent to do it. He cleared the old blockage and closed the lid before jumping back at the sight of Eddie staring at him.

Eddie regarded him through narrowed eyes. “How do you do it?” he demanded suspiciously.

“I—uh, I take out the old paper to clear the blockage before refilling with new paper,” said Peter warily as he moved, cautiously, towards the door. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly sharing a room with Eddie—the man looked at him like he was scum and his senses were giving a low-level, irritating buzz.

“Not that,” said Eddie. His tone was casual. His body language was anything but. “I mean the pictures.”

Peter was even more confused. “The pictures? Well, the programming does most of the work—”

“The pictures _you_ take,” growled Eddie through clenched teeth. “How do you know the best places to be?”

Oh.  _Oh_ . Peter nervously fidgeted with the safety goggles he was wearing. “I work at Stark Industries,” he said, “and they’re pretty good about assistants taking odd breaks as long as all the work gets done.”

“What does that—oh.” Eddie regarded Peter with a little bit more respect. “So you use the information you get at work to know when and where to go.”

“It’s not secret information,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t want anyone to think he was stealing secrets from Mr. Stark. “They announce it over the intercom. The only times I can’t go is when they’re expecting something to attack the Tower and lock it down with everyone inside.” The buzz wasn’t diminishing, and Peter swallowed. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to go,” he said quickly before fleeing.

He carefully hung the ink stained over-alls back up, grabbed his bag, and clocked out before leaving.  He fled the building and then sighed as he trudged back home. He had some money from Jamison—but he was going to have to use it for the rest of his rent, some food, and some more medical supplies. His first aid kit was dangerously low, and he didn’t have anything to eat at home. The food he’d gotten at Oscorp was already wearing thin.  Not for the first time, he cursed his quick metabolism.

“Petey-Pie!” called a familiar voice.

Peter whirled to see the familiar red and black figure coming towards him. “Wade!” he said happily right before he was squeezed in a hug.

“Oh, Petey-Pie! It’s been _forever_ since I hugged you!”

Peter reached around the mercenary to hug him back and felt tense muscles relaxing. “You liar,” he said fondly. “It was just four o’clock this afternoon.”

“Do you know how many chapters that was Petey?” whined Wade. “I need my Peter fix!” He rubbed his masked cheek against Peter’s bare one and the stitches rasped against his face.

“Chapters?” he asked in confusion. “Are you reading a book?”

“I’d tell ya, Pete,” said Wade as he held the smaller man, “but you’d think I was crazy.”

Peter chuckled and gently squeezed in a return hug. “You  _are_ crazy,” he said fondly.

Crazy enough to believe he could change.

Crazy enough to believe Spiderman had a good reason for keeping his identity secret.

Crazy enough to get close to Peter Parker.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Wade said.

Peter leaned back enough to where he could look into the whites of Wade’s mask. “Who says it’s a bad thing?” he challenged. “I—”

“So _this_ is how you get your information,” said voice, dripping with disgust. Peter broke way enough to see Eddie behind them. The raw disgust on his face was enough to make him take a step back, and the mere sight brought back that low-level warning buzz. “Fucking the freaks.”

“Hmm. Peter, who is this?” asked Deadpool as he tucked himself around Peter again.

“This is Eddie. I think he’s my coworker?” Jamison had mentioned something about Eddie wanting his job—but why? It just didn’t pay that much, and _no one_ like to wrangle the printer.

“Oh? Hello Eddie. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’m hugging my baby boy right now.” The arm around Peter’s waist tightened slightly, and the other crossed Peter’s torso. Peter would have relaxed into the embrace—if he hadn’t been all too aware of the fact that Deadpool had just moved his hand closer to his sword.

Eddie put both his hands in his pockets—and Peter winced. Deadpool had once sliced the arms off of a crook who did that ( _I swear he was reaching for a gun, and you’re not bullet-proof Spidey!_ ) and Peter waited anxiously to see what would happen. Eddie simply left his hands there, and chuckled.

The sound was disturbingly similar to what Norman had uttered as Harry was recovering from nearly  _dying_ in the office.

“I just want to get an edge, that’s all,” Eddie said with a sly grin. Without looking at Peter he asked, “Peter, do you believe in the concept of fair play?”

“Um—yes?”

“Do you believe that in a competition to see who is truly the best, both people should be on equal footing?

“…yes?”

The grin widened. “Excellent. Hey, Deadpool. How about you give me a heads up, next time shit’s going down?”

Deadpool tucked his chin into the crook of Peter’s neck and there was a slight change—an almost relaxation that left him somewhere between Deadpool and Wade. “Hmm. That does sound fair.” Eddie smirked. “But, I won’t do it. You upset my little Petey-Pie, and the only reason you’re still breathing is because Spidey Senpai would be mad at me.” He rubbed his cheek against Peter’s again. “And just as Baby Boy believes in fair play, he also believes in honesty. Don’t you Baby Boy?”

“We—well, it’s always important to try to be truthful,” Peter said. He couldn't tell anyone he was Spiderman—but he didn’t deny it either. Actually, he was more careful that it didn’t come up. He wasn’t sure if that counted as lying or not.

Deadpool heaved an exaggerated sigh. “There you go. If Spidey asked Petey-Pie if I killed someone, Petey would tell the truth. So you live. Now live somewhere I’m not tempted.” He took his gloved hand away from Peter’s shoulder and made shooing motion with it.  Eddie growled—but left. Peter let out a low, slow breath and relaxed as Wade cuddled him close again. “I don’t know how to say this, but  _you_ need a bodyguard.”

Peter really wouldn't put it past Eddie to ambush him in an alley on the way home. While he  _could_ fight off the other reporter—he couldn't do it without telling people he was Spiderman. “True,” he said. He looked up at Wade’s chin. “Want to come shopping with me? I got paid today.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I read The Merc's For Money and Their Quest to Save Deadpool's Imaginary Boyfriend by X_Gon_Give_It, and I couldn't get the boop out of my head. Hopefully, it's much less creepy here. (That is a story that is both creepy and funny at the same time. I loved it. I recommend it. In fact:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098643/chapters/45377497
> 
> Check it out.)

[I have to point out, once again, how very strange it is that he is _not_ running from us, _not_ making an excuse to leave us, and feels _safer_ with us than with the unarmed, clearly sane man.]

{Shut up! Petey-Pie is amazing!}

[I didn’t say I don’t _like_ him, I said he’s _strange_.]

Wade hummed as Peter put groceries in his cart. When the boy had asked him to go shopping with him, he didn’t think it would be for groceries.

[And medical supplies. He could support an ambulance with what he’s got in there.]

{What does he need those for? Is working for Stark _that_ dangerous?}

“Peter,” said Wade slowly, “I notice that you’ve got a lot of fruit.”

“Ah, well,” said Peter as he pushed up his glasses (he’d put them on before going into the store saying he had eyestrain), “fruit is good. It has vitamins and nutrients, and most fruits also have juice.”

[That’s—oddly specific.]

Wade watched as Peter put some crackers in the cart. “Do you ever—cook food, Petey?” he asked.

“I _can_ ,” Peter said defensively. “I just—don’t have a lot of time,” he admitted. Peter slouched over, as if ashamed of himself.

{You FIEND! Fix it! Fix it NOW!!!}

“All righty Petey-Pie,” said Wade decisively as he started grabbing stuff on his own. “Tonight, I’ll cook.”

An adorable flush crossed Peter’s cheeks. “I can’t ask you to do that,” he protested.

[Buy it with our money Wade. Author knows we have more than enough.]

“True. You’re not asking,” Wade assured Peter. “I’m telling. And I’m a good cook.”

{Remember that chef that taught us how to cook in exchange for not killing him?}

[We still killed him though.]

{Only because he tried to poison us.}

The flush deepened. “Th—thanks Wade,” he said.

Wade looked at him, reached and towards his face, and “Boop!” bopped his nose with a gloved finger. The nose, predictably, twitched in response.

“Stop that,’ protested Peter with no heat from the words.

“You are just too cute. I can’t wait to see you melt over dinner.”

“That sounded wrong,” Peter complained as he followed Wade to the next aisle.

“No, no!” protested Wade as he turned Peter around. “you’re going to be surprised!”

[We’re not. It’s tacos again, isn’t it?]

{Tacos have all the food groups because tomatoes are a fruit!}

“Hey, are the food groups still a pyramid, or did they change again?” asked Wade as he picked ingredients.

{Hate to break it to ya buddy, but rice doesn’t go in tacos.}

“I don’t know. I don’t really keep up with that stuff.” Wade turned to see that Peter was still looking away. He couldn't help but grin under the mask; the boy really did believe in the concept of fair play.

“Kay. Hmm. I’ll Google it later. Oh—fun fact!” Wade announced as they continued to shop. “Did you know the first person to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel died after slipping on an orange peel?”

“Did you mention that because I have oranges in the cart?” asked Peter trailing after Wade, still not looking. Wade reached out and gently grabbed his elbow to prevent him from running into a display.

“Nah. It just popped into my head. I think the author was reading Fun Facts of the Day again.”

“Author?”

“Not important, Baby Boy,” said Wade with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked at the contents of the cart and a thought took hold.

{I saw that! Do it! Do it!}

[An actual good idea. The second one so far.]

Wade hummed. “Okay Pete,” he said with a grin hidden (mostly, partly, okay—not at all since his mask was so emotive) behind his mask. “This next bit’s the secret to a perfect dinner, so I want you to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

Peter didn’t sound thrilled at the idea. “Don’t worry,” Wade said as reassuring as possible. “I’ll keep a hand on you and make sure you don’t run into anything.”

[Are you insane? Like he’s really going to trust a sword-wielding—he’s doing it. I can’t believe he’s doing it.]

{I want to keep him! Hold him tight and never let go!}

Peter had closed his eyes and was trustingly holding out a hand to Wade. A hand that Wade gently, reverently took. It wasn’t often anyone gave him trust.

[Or ever.]

{Spidey trusts us!}

[And how are you going to manage this next part, genius?]

Wade kept up a stream of babble that was _just_ loud enough to cover the beeping at the checkout. He had no idea what the clerk thought—

[Probably that he doesn’t get paid enough to care.]

—but the young man didn’t say anything to ruin the deception until he gave the total. Peter’s eyes snapped open and his mouth dropped as Wade quickly paid for the food. _All_ of the food. And the first aid supplies.

{Seriously; what does he need those for?}

“Wade!” spluttered Peter, face flushed, and staring in shock.

“Aw,” crooned Wade. “Boop.” He gently bopped Peter’s nose and, like always, it twitched like a little rabbit.

“Wade, this is serious!”

“What was that? I can’t hear you!” Wade quickly gathered the bags on and in his arms.

“Wade!”

“CAN’T HEAR YOU!” The mercenary danced out of the door.

Peter quickly caught up. “Wait—at least let me carry some of them!”

“Well—since I’m cooking,” admitted Wade. He paused and let Peter shift about half the weight of the bags to himself.

[Did you notice he took the heavy half?]

“I can carry it all,” Wade said.

“No,” said Peter firmly. His glasses began to slide down his nose. He used his forearm to push them back up again. “You paid for the groceries. You said you’d be cooking dinner. The _least_ I can do is carry them.”

{Aw! He’s such a sweetie}

[I’m taking this moment to point out that he’s not even breathing hard.]

Wade ignored the voices in his head for the moment. “Well,” he said salaciously, “you are just going to—”

“Peter!” The two of them turned to see two beautiful redheads, one male and one female, coming up to them.

Peter’s face lit up. “Harry! MJ!” he called back as the two approached them. Wade watched them warily, not sure how to respond to the two new people. Especially not two people that Peter actually seemed _happy_ to see.

[Doesn’t it strike you odd? All day long he’s only been happy to see three people, and _we’re_ one of them.]

“Peter,” the young man said warily as he regarded Wade. “Who’s this?”

“Oh!” said Peter. “I’m sorry. Wade, this is Harry,” the male nodded, “and MJ,” the female waved. “They’ve been my best friends since—well, almost forever. Harry, MJ, this is Wade. He’s—um, a friend.”

“Oh.” The girl’s vibrant green eyes looked the costumed man up and down. “An ‘um friend.’ When did _you_ get one of those? Huh?” she nudged Peter in the side with an elbow while wearing a smirk.

Peter squirmed. “MJ!” he protested.

The guy simply grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets. “So, Wade, was it? Has Peter shown you his scrapbooks yet?”

Wade hadn’t thought it was possible for Peter to get any redder. He’d been wrong. “Harry!” protested Peter in a voice that was half yelp, half yell.

MJ simply giggled before absconding with half the bags in Peter’s arms. “Let’s get your groceries put up Peter,” she said. “It’s been forever.”

[Why aren’t they screaming, running away, or telling us to leave?]

{Who cares?}

“You know,” said Harry, “I can help with—”

Both MJ and Peter whirled, identical expressions of anger on their faces. “NO!” they said firmly, in unison.

“Wow,” said Wade looking at Harry. “They agree! It must be important.”

“They’re just overprotective,” said Harry fondly. “On another note; you should really look at Peter’s scrapbooks. There’s at least one picture I know you’ll be thrilled with.” He smirked.

Wade wanted to punch him in the nose. He wasn’t sure why. “Peter doesn’t seem okay with it,” he said slowly.

Harry frowned. “That’s Dad’s fault,” he said viciously. “And the world doesn’t bow to Dad, no matter what the bastard thinks.”

{That’s a lot of anger.}

“There’s nothing wrong with scrapbooking.”

“Nothing at all,” agreed Wade. He wasn’t sure why, except that seeing Harry upset might upset Peter and he didn’t want to upset Peter.

“And Peter took all the pictures himself,” Harry added. There was an odd note of pride in his voice.

“I’ve seen his pictures in the Bugle,” Wade admitted.

[You mean, you’ve cut out pictures he’s taken of Spiderman and glued them to the wall of the bathroom.]

As the four of them made their way to Peter’s apartment, Wade noticed something. There was _always_ someone touching Peter—MJ his arm, Harry his shoulder, or Wade just leaning against him randomly as they walked. Peter took it all in stride.

[Maybe it’s not so strange that he likes us. Maybe he’s just one of those people that needs to be touched.]

{In that case—we’re _perfect_ for each other!}

[We are not, you idiot.]

Once they’re in the apartment all four of them help put up groceries. To Wade’s slight surprise, the redheads know where everything is supposed to go. When they were done MJ slung an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Come on, Tiger,” she told him. “Time to get the scrapbook.”

“But—” Peter didn’t have a chance as MJ towed him towards a room.

“So,” said Harry amiably as the two of them waited on the couch. “You and Peter, huh? How did that happen?”

“I launched a sword into the alarm in his lab and his only comment was to ask if he could borrow the blade to finish cutting something.”

Harry chuckled. “Sounds like Peter,” he said fondly.

[He should sound more worried.]

“You don’t sound surprised,” Wade admitted.

Harry looked at Wade with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. “When we were five a guy in a dirty white van came up to the school. He said he’d hit a puppy and begged us to get the teacher for help.”

Sounded like a stranger danger scenario, the kind used to frighten small children. “What happened?” he asked.

“Peter climbed into the van. Turns out, there really _was_ an injured puppy in the thing. The man had been telling the truth.” Harry was silent for a moment. “I asked Peter how he knew and he said he just did. So, if Peter feels comfortable around you, that means you’re a good person for him.”

Wade scoffed. “I’m not a good person,” he argued.

“Good,” said Harry, sounding satisfied.

Before Wade could interrogate Harry on that odd comment, MJ came out with a frantic Peter trailing behind her. “Got it,” said MJ smugly.

Peter was flushed, and looked a little panicked. “It—it’s not that great,” he said hurriedly as MJ smugly handed Wade a three-ring binder.

Wade looked at Peter. “I won’t open if it you’re not okay with that.” He noticed MJ and Harry exchange smiles, but kept his eyes on Peter.

Who slumped, defeated. “You can look,” he said. “They’re just—just not that great,” he continued lamely.

{He looks sad. We need to hug him!}

[We _need_ to find out why this is so important.]

Wade opened the book and stared. It wasn’t a scrapbook so much as it was a photo album—and the photos were amazing. They were nothing the Bugle, borderline tabloid that it was, would ever print, but amazing nonetheless. They showed the city of New Amsterdam, and its heroes, in a way that Wade had never seen before. There was a picture of Captain America, clearly helping a cat down out of a tree, getting scratched in the face by said cat. There was a picture of a blue balloon among the pink petals of the cherry trees in the park. A group of girls in prom dresses eating pizza and laughing while one of them tried to scoop the pizza off her dress.

The one that made his breath catch, though, was the picture of him. Standing at the edge of a rooftop, katanas in each hand, a light shining on him highlighting features of the costume even as the rising sun behind him outlined the mercenary in view.

{We look amazing! That should be a poster!}

[There’s something odd about that picture…]

“These are wonderful,” said Wade in awe as he turned the page. He looked up at Peter. “Did you take all these?”

Peter flushed and shuffled his feet. “Well, yes,” he admitted.

“You should share them,” Wade said. They were way too good to be condemned to life merely in a notebook.

“No one wants them,” muttered Peter.

{LIES!!}

“Have you tried putting them up on Instagram?” asked Wade. “You know, showing people what you have?”

“I—I never really thought about it much,” admitted Peter as he pushed his glasses back into place with the heel of his hand.

“We’ll have to do that. After dinner. Or while it’s cooking.” He turned to MJ and Harry. “You want to join us?” he asked, politely. “I’m making a lot of food.”

MJ just chuckled. “The two of you are _made_ for each other—he can _eat_ a lot of food.”

Harry pushed himself up off the couch. “You two have fun,” he said gently. “We’ve got to go.” He walked up to Peter and tousled the smaller man’s hair. “Don’t let Dad run you ragged,” he advised.

Peter instantly looked troubled. “Harry—” he said worriedly.

“After all,” continued Harry, “he won’t always be in control.”

The worried look vanished and Peter grinned. “That’s right!” he said happily.

[What’s that about?]

{Eh, he’ll tell us when he’s ready.}


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slice of Harry and MJ and Tony respectively. (And yes, they're happening at the same time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I've been using chapters as character breaks, but these two were so short I decided to treat them as a single chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Harry and MJ strolled in companionable silence for a while, hands linked with fingers interlaced. After a while Harry hummed softly. “Wade seems nice,” he said quietly.

“Certainly respectful of Peter,” agreed MJ. She chuckled. “Did you see the look between them after I handed him the scrapbook? He definitely loves Peter.”

Harry smiled. “That’s good. I think we can count on Deadpool to put Peter first.” Then, softer, in a tone not meant to carry, he added, “Someone has to.”

MJ gripped his hand tighter. “You’re doing what you can,” she told him gently, but firmly.

Harry gave a hollow laugh. “Am I?” he asked her. When they’d been children he’d resented the way his father almost seemed to glow when Peter was nearby. After—after that whole mess he’d resented Peter for the fact that _he_ wasn’t the one in physical pain. It wasn’t until Peter had gotten hospitalized because of a prank that several of Norman’s lab assistants had played on him that Harry had realized that the emotional pain of watching someone you cared for in physical pain and being unable to do _anything_ to help was worse. And he’d always seen that pain reflected in Peter’s eyes, he just hadn’t understood it at the time.

MJ had seen everything. She understood both of them, even as they hadn’t understood each other. She pulled him close until his forehead rested against hers. “You are,” she said firmly.

Harry hugged her close, almost desperately. Sometimes he wondered if he was holding her back. She was such a beautiful person, smart and kind, and was surely destined for great things. He’d asked her once. She’d told him to stop being stupid and kiss her.

“I hope he takes good care of Peter,” Harry said.

“I hope Peter lets him,” MJ replied.

She didn’t have to say the rest. They both knew that Deadpool, the infamous immortal mercenary, was one of the few people on the planet that Norman couldn't touch. He couldn't be killed; he couldn't be blackmailed. There was _no one_ better for Peter, if only the two of them got along like that. If only they loved each other like that.

If only…

 ***

Tony stepped into his office—and stopped. There was a large cardboard box on his desk. There appeared to be something moving in it. He stepped closer, just close enough to see inside—and stared. “Pepper?” he called.

“Sorry Tony,” she said appearing behind him. Her voice sounded calm, not apologetic it at all. “The Tower cat had kittens, and there’s nowhere else to put them for the moment.”

“Tower cat?” Tony hadn’t been aware his tower had a cat. Or that it had been female. Or that he’d suddenly be playing host to eight cats on his desk.

If he hadn’t been so focused on the cats, he would have seen the smile on Pepper’s face. “We thought about getting rid of them,” Tony made an inarticulate protest at the thought, “but they’re good for employee morale. Bruce is working on finding a place for them—”

“ _Bruce_ is?”

“—but until then they have nowhere else to stay.” Tony stared at the cats. The gray and white spotted mother cat looked up at Tony and blinked lazily as the kittens nursed. “If you _really_ mind—”

“They’re good here.” Tony watched as the mother cat yawned before settling back down.

Pepper watched him stare at the box. His hands were on his hips and he was scowling at the living things in front of him. “Maybe this is a mistake,” she said thoughtfully.

“A mistake?”

“I’ll find someone else to take care of them. It’s just, Natalie thought they’d do better if they stayed in the Tower, but I’m sure there’s someone who’ll be thrilled to take them home—just while we get their new residence ready.”

“No.”

Pepper smiled. If Tony had been watching her, he would have shivered. As it was, all he could see was the cats on his desk. “No?” she asked.

“They’re good here. After all, the Tower is their home.”

Pepper nodded. “That’s right,” she said warmly. “The Tower is their home.” She turned and left the office, a spring in her step.

Tony didn’t notice as he stared at the side of the cardboard box. Cats. In his Tower. Good for morale.

Frowning, Tony turned and did what he always did when he didn’t understand something. Research.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade fixes dinner and then Peter gets an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my lovelies. My sweet readers. My darling audience. I would like to, once again, direct your attention to the tags. Specifically, the darker tags. As in, child abuse, to be accurate. Now, this is not being perpetrated by our boys, but it does come up. And, I think there's sweetness beforehand. Don't know if that makes it better or worse. On to the story.

Peter watched in fascination as Wade mixed seasoning in with the rice before carefully pushing into the bottom of the casserole dish. (Peter hadn’t known he’d had a casserole dish. It was in with a bunch of dishes Aunt May had packed for him when he moved out.) There was something—alluring about watching hands, hands that he knew could both kill creatively and without mercy while also being capable of the best hugs Peter had ever had, making food. He was almost hypnotized by the sight.

“Careful, Baby,” said Wade as he grabbed the cheese and the cheese grater. (Peter wasn’t asking why Wade had a cheese grater in one of his pouches. Or why he’d soaked it in bleach for three minutes before washing it.) “You’ll give me ideas.”

Peter frowned. That was the second time that Wade had mentioned Peter giving him ideas. “What do you mean?” asked Peter as he leaned against the counter. Taking the new position was all about getting closer to Wade, and not about getting a better look at those hands making food. Food that wasn’t even finished yet and looked delicious. “By giving you ideas?” he clarified.

Wade stopped moving and then turned to look at Peter. It was one of the few times that the mask wasn’t emotive. “Peter,” he said in a low, serious voice that was nothing like his normal, over the top one, “I’m a guy. I’m a crazy, few-bricks-short-of-a-house guy who, under this fabulous outfit, looks like a horror movie monster reject—but I’m still a guy. And when you say things like that, or do things like that, I start getting the idea that I might _be_ a guy. And that’s dangerous.”

Peter hopped onto the counter as he watched Wade turn back to the casserole he was making. “What kind of ideas? And why do you think you look like a horror movie monster reject?”

Wade snorted as he covered the dish with foil and put it in the oven. ( _That_ , Peter had known worked, as he’d reheated pizza in it on occasion.) “I’ve seen myself, Baby Boy,” Wade said bitterly. “I’ve seen people’s reactions to my ugly mug. Trust me, I’m a monster. And not a good monster in the oh-the-audience-wants-to-fuck-him way, either.”

Peter hopped off the counter and wrapped his arms around Wade. “You’re not a monster,” he said.

Wade hugged him back. “You don’t know that Petey,” he said wearily as he slumped against Peter. “You’ve never seen me.”

Peter looked up. “Then show me,” he challenged, suddenly reckless. “Show me what you mean.” Wade recoiled slightly, but didn’t let go of Peter. Peter reached up and gently pressed a palm to the masked face. “It’s okay,” he said.

Wade shook his head, but the movement was sad and despondent. He reached up and gently pressed against the hand on his cheek. “I know how people look at me without the mask,” he said. “And if _you_ looked at me like that—I’d break, Peter.”

Peter’s heart was already breaking. “Wade,” he said, “I’d never—”

He was interrupted by a furious pounding on the apartment door. “Mr. Parker!” cried a desperate voice that he was all too familiar with.

In a flash Peter was by the door, holding it open for the two children—one leaning heavily on the other. The more mobile one half dragged, half carried the other one into the room, and then came to stop. The child stared at Wade, eyes wide, breathing heavily.

Oh, right. The last time the child had been in his apartment Norman had been over to visit. “He’s safe,” Peter assured the child as he helped with the badly injured one. “What happened?” he asked helping the girl to the table.

The more active child nearly danced with worry as Peter did a cursory examination. Bruises, strains, minor abrasions and lacerations. Not nearly as bad as some he’d seen. The worst were the raw, bloody strips at the child’s wrists. Peter grabbed his first aid kit and went to work.

“Juby was in the store, getting some food, when the police picked her up.” In its distress, the child didn’t even seem to realize that one of the forbidden names had been dropped. “They took her to her dad.”

Juby turned to Peter, eyes wide and glassy, but focused nonetheless. “Ellie saved me,” she said firmly.

“I couldn't leave you there with that bastard!”

“Enough,” Peter said gently as he worked. He used some alcohol to tease hair out of one of the worst wounds on the girl’s scalp, hoping he could stave off infection. “I thought you were using the buddy system,” he said with a slight frown.

“We were!” protested Ellie.

“Anna Marie’s mom is worse than my dad,” Juby said calmly, barely twitching even though Peter knew it had to hurt. He tried not to think about why a small child had such high pain tolerance. He didn’t want to know. “When I saw the cop I made her hide.”

“And then she came to get me,” said Ellie.

As Peter moved to treat the wound on the girl’s wrist, he noticed Wade gently shoo Ellie towards him. “So, tell me about Juby’s dad. I have serious questions like, where does the fucker live?”

Peter wanted to tell him not use such language in front of the children—but knew that they’d heard worse. “All right,” said Peter as he wrapped the last treated wound in gauze before grabbing an orange he’d picked up earlier. “Here you are,” he said handing the fruit to the child before grabbing another one for Ellie. Juby put a finger to the orange and small purple spark bit into the rind, making it accessible to the child.

“Just between you and me,” Wade was saying as Peter got close to give Ellie her orange, “I’m well known for jobs that take fuckers like that out of the world.”

“We can’t afford to pay you,” Ellie said suspiciously, and clearly uncomfortable with the close contact.

“No worries,” Wade assured her as Peter gently nudged him out of the girl’s personal space. “My services are all pro bono in a case like this.”

“He means,” Peter translated as he tossed Ellie the orange, “that he’ll do it for free.”

Wade scooped Peter to the side as Ellie ripped the orange in half and began to eat it, carefully saving the seeds. The children had taken to planting them—somewhere. Peter wasn’t asking where.

“Will you tell on me?” asked Wade.

Peter was conflicted. “Killing is wrong,” he said firmly. He glanced behind him, at the injured child eating on his table. “Killing is wrong,” he repeated, “but so is this.” Wade pulled him into a hug and pressed a kiss through the leather of his mask to Peter’s forehead.

“Everything will be all right Pete,” said Wade gently, repeating what Peter had said to him earlier. He pulled away and gently shooed Ellie towards the door. “Come on Ellie. Let’s go kill us a bad guy!”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” growled the girl.

Peter noticed an odd sound behind him and turned to see Juby watching him warily. He smiled as reassuringly as possible. “The couch pulls out into a bed,” Peter said. He’d gotten it for free from a neighbor who was upgrading her own furniture. “I’ll get it ready for you, and you can sleep there tonight.”

The child eyed him suspiciously. He was used to the look by now. “And where will _you_ sleep?” she asked curtly.

“In _my_ bed,” Peter responded, just as curtly. “I don’t share well. I kick. And snore.” The girl dissolved into giggles and he smiled thinly at her. “And your friend should be by in the morning to take you back to where the lot of you are staying.”

The child looked at him again. “You really don’t know where it is.” It wasn’t a question.

Neither was his response. “I’m not asking,” he said firmly before pulling out the hidden bed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool helps Street Rat Ellie with a problem.

[That was oddly satisfying, considering the bastard isn’t dead.]

{He screamed so nice when we cut off his hands.}

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” Ellie said with vicious satisfaction. “Now he can live in fear every day and learn how it feels.”

“You, my dear girl, have a mean streak,” Wade said shaking his finger at her.

She rolled her eyes.  Then she looked at him and they narrowed. “Mr. Parker really likes you,” she told him.

{I told you! I TOLD you!}

[Yes, Yellow. Thank you for stating the obvious. I’d also like to point out he likes us  _masked_ .]

Yellow, hyper-enthusiastic box that he was, said nothing.

“Are you still here?” demanded a voice.

Wade focused the kid that he had, admittedly, forgotten about. “Yup. All three of us.”

The kid tensed, ready to run as she eyed him warily. He expected her to ask what he meant. She looked like she was going to.

She didn’t. “You’re the first person Mr. Parker has ever said was safe,” she told him.

[At least now we know why had so many medical supplies in the cart. He’s treating the street children.]

“True. Look, I’m kind of safe, but not really safe, so try not to approach me on your own.”

{We’d never hurt a child!}

[We’re trying to teach her something you idiot!]

Ellie watched him with narrowed eyes before taking a step back from him. “There’s this man who comes to visit sometimes,” she said. “Older guy, orange hair, expensive suit.”

[Sounds like Norman Osborn.]

“Mr. Parker told us to stay away while he’s there, because he’s dangerous.” The girl continued watching Wade. “There are these other two people, both with the same color hair, that visit that are his age.”

{Oh, that sounds like Harry and Mary Jane.}

“He said that they wouldn't mean to put us in danger, but they would, so be careful. There’s an older woman, about the same age as the man, that visits him sometimes. “He said she’s smarter than she looks, but firmly believes in the system that spat us out, so feel free to visit, but don’t talk about circumstances.”

[Wonder who that is?]

“You’re the only person he’s ever said is ‘safe.’ He didn’t even hesitate.” She shoved her hands in her pockets and hunched over, eyes scanning their surroundings.

“You know a lot.”

Her eyes met his, but she didn’t lower her defensive posture. “I watch him,” she said. “I want to know what he wants.”

Wade scratched the side of his head. “What makes you think he wants something?” he asked, curiously.

She snorted. “Everyone wants something,” she said. “I just have to figure it out. Tell Mr. Parker I’ll be by in the morning to pick up Juby.” She stepped away and hid in the shadows around them.

{She’s good.}

[I think she’s had to be.]

Wade made his way back to Peter’s apartment as he mused over what he’d learned about the assistant. Peter worked as a lab assistant at Stark Industries. Peter was not afraid of Wade, and even seemed to find Wade comforting.

[Which is strange.]

{ _Yes_ , White, as you keep saying.}

Peter also spent time at Oscorp. Wade had shadowed the building for hours while Peter was inside, but didn’t want to break in. He didn’t want the young man to think he was being stalked, after all.

{Um—have you  _met_ us? Of  _course_ we’re stalking him! He’s not scared!}

[And we don’t want him knowing that, or he  _will_ be scared! And there won’t be any Petey-Pie cuddles if he’s scared!]

He worked at the newspaper/podcast/website that regularly trashed Spiderman—but Wade couldn't hold it against his baby boy. Clearly the boy was struggling to eat.

[Obviously, he’s doing what he can to feed the street kids.]

Wade stopped. Peter, who seemed normal enough, didn’t ignore the street kids like ninety percent of New Amsterdam. He didn’t see them as plague to be wiped out, like nine percent of New Amsterdam. He saw them as children who needed help, and he was helping.

{If you’d had a Peter, would you be different?}

Wade wasn’t sure. What he  _was_ sure of, was that Peter had a big heart. And, Peter was wearing himself thin. Also—there didn’t really seem to be anyone looking after  _Peter_ .

[I’d like to point out that we are. Looking after him.]

Wade made it back to the apartment, effortlessly picked the (surprisingly, or not so surprisingly) simple lock on Peter’s door, and saw Peter standing at the counter, staring at the still bubbling taco casserole that had clearly just come out of the oven. He turned and smiled when he saw Wade.

{I like how he smiles when he sees us. Even if he’s annoyed.}

Peter took a step towards Wade—and stumbled.

[{CATCH HIM!}]

Wade dove foreword and did just that. “You okay?” he asked as he gently ran a gloved hand over Peter’s hair.

Peter nuzzled his face into the front of Wade’s suit. “’m okay,” he mumbled.

[He’s half asleep, idiot. Put him to bed.]

Wade chuckled as he picked Peter up. “You’re exhausted,” he said fondly.

“Mmm.” Peter mumbled as Wade slipped the boy; lab assistant, caretaker of street children, and employee for the Daily Bugle as well as best photographer that Wade had ever seen; into the bed before covering him up with sheets. 

“Get some sleep, Baby Boy,” Wade said fondly. “Everything else can wait until the morning.”

Before he left he put the casserole in the fridge. Couldn’t waste good food, after all. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Gwen Stacey talks to Peter.

Gwen took a deep breath. She could do this. She _would_ do this. How hard was it to get a lab assistant to do what she wanted anyway?

A lot harder than she’d thought it would be. Getting him out of the preparation lab had been easy. She’d gone to the supervisor and said she needed an assistant immediately and he’d practically _shoved_ Peter at her.

Peter, who now stood in the hallway, determinedly not meeting her eyes, and fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag. “Someone else has got to be better,” he muttered softly, nervously.

Gwen, for her part, was irritated. On the surface it had seemed an easy plan; get the kid to one of the better labs, let him see how great the labs were, and then the job would be done. She didn’t expect to have to fight to get him _into_ the lab!

She took a slow deep breath and released it. This was her assignment. She would do it. “I read your paper,” she said. She wasn’t expecting the flinch at the words—but she wasn’t surprised. Once again she both cursed Tony for meddling beneath his station and prayed the cats would do their job. Everyone would work better if he would just leave them _alone_.

“I’m currently,” she said firmly, “working an artificial neural network into an artificial organic matrix. I hit a stumbling block. I think, given what I read in your paper, that you can help me overcome it.” She waited, arms crossed as he took a moment to think about it. She _wanted_ to yell, to scream, to just _order_ him to go with her—but that would create a negative emotive impact on the very thing that she was supposed to be selling him.

She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or pissed that her closest uncle was a used car salesman.

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind her glasses. If she was reading his body language correctly (and she’d spent way too many summers on that lot helping to sell cars), then he _wanted_ to take her on her offer—and was holding himself back. Why?

She thought back to what she knew. Each and every single time that Tony had approached him, that _anyone_ had approached him about him getting his own lab, he had mentioned that there were people more capable and qualified than he was. Was it possible the boy had an inferiority complex? That he simply couldn’t grasp the idea that he _might_ be qualified for a higher position?

Looking at the nervous young man in front of her, Gwen reluctantly concluded that had to be the right answer. The way he stammered, the way he hunched over on himself, couldn't look her in the eye—he didn’t have the self-confidence he needed to take over his own lab. It was obvious. He’d probably been slowly building confidence, building friendships in the preparation lab.

And Tony, that _idiot_ , had gone and wrecked the whole thing.

Okay. O _kay_ . She could work with this. He wouldn't accept that he was the best person for the job—because he couldn't accept that he was _the_ best person for the job. Time to try a different approach.

“Look,” she said, interrupting his self-depreciating speech. “My assistant is on maternity leave. I need an assistant; your supervisor recommended you.” She waited. He seemed to consider that statement, but she wasn’t going to let him decide to withdraw again. “Tell you what,” she said as cajoling as possible, “you come help me with my work today, and I’ll owe you a favor.”

He paused. “A favor?” he asked warily.

If he’d been anyone else, or seemed even remotely more worldly than he did, she wouldn't have offered. But this kid, with his deer-in-the-headlights expression and his apparent inferiority complex, was safe. “Any favor,” she said boldly. “No questions asked.”

He fought with himself for a little more and then sighed. “Okay,” he said softly.

She snorted. “No need to sound like you’re going to the gallows,” she said as she led him to her lab. She used her card to open the floor it was on. Her lab shared a floor with Bruce Banner. Tony had his own floor.

She hadn’t believed, at her deepest level, that Peter was worth all this effort. Twenty minutes in, after he came up with a protein solution that kept the artificial organic matrix from liquefying, she agreed that he was smart enough to be worth the effort. An hour in, after he helped her program the microbots to create channels for the neural network, she was ready to claim him as her assistant. By lunch she was ready to fight to keep him.

An hour after lunch Bruce poked his head into the lab. “I hear you’ve got a new assistant,” he said. His curly haired head turned to look where Peter was making corrections to the microbots laying the network. “Can I borrow him?”

“No!” snapped Gwen as she lunged from her chair, eyes flashing. “Get your own assistant!” Bruce snorted and withdrew, clearly amused.

“Um—” She turned to see Peter staring at her, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“You’re fine,” she assured him.

He swallowed. “Um, Dr. Stacey, I have to go,” he said softly.

“Go?” she asked. “Why?” she demanded.

He shrank on himself. “I—I have to ge—get to my o-other job,” he stammered.

She sighed. Of course he did. She knew assistants didn’t get paid enough to eat. “Go,” she said in dismissal. It was time for her to talk to Tony anyway.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman makes a decision, and talks to Deadpool about it.

Peter sighed as he stopped for a moment, in front of store with a reflective window, and rubbed his face wearily. There weren’t enough hours in the day. He couldn't be a lab assistant to Dr. Stacey, work on Norman’s research, get pictures and do odd jobs for the Bugle,  _and_ patrol as Spiderman. He couldn't do it. He was going to have to cut back on one of them.  He couldn't cut back on working at the Tower or the Bugle, because those were the jobs that actually paid. He couldn't cut back working for Norman, because Harry’s life was in the balance.

He stared miserably at his reflection. It didn’t matter how he turned the facts around in his head. He was going to have to quit being Spiderman for a while, and hope that nothing truly terrifying happened while he did.

He continued trudging towards his next job when a thought occurred to him; Spiderman couldn't just vanish. Deadpool would notice—and would likely take the city apart trying to find him. He could just see it now; Deadpool cornering some  random thug going, “Are you sure you don’t know where Spiderman is? Let’s see if a little stabby-stabby will jog your memory.”

Peter couldn't do that to his city.  All right, the people Deadpool would attack would probably deserve it (and much worse), but he still couldn't do that to his city.  He had to protect it.

He slipped into one of the computer’s blind spots and changed before swinging out over the city to find Deadpool. Who was, at that moment, stopping a bank robbery. Not the way that Peter would have done, but stopping it all the same. And, most importantly, managing to stop the robbery  _without_ either killing or seriously maiming the culprits. There were some stab wounds (expected) and some bruises (also expected), but no one, during the whole thing, was in danger of dying. Except Deadpool, who was exceptionally careless with his own life  (again, as expected) .

Deadpool was booted out of the crime scene and he left, muttering to himself as Peter slowly climbed down the side of the building to get close the mercenary. “ Stupid—no, you did! Of course we couldn't—shut up!” he growled to himself. “I know we fucked up!”

“I thought you did really well,” Peter called as he hung upside-down on the fire escape.

Deadpool whirled and gave a comic stare. “Spidey! You—you were watching?”

“Yup.” Peter let go of the fire escape and tumbled to where he was standing in front of Deadpool. He ticked off what he’d seen on the fingers of his hand. “You got the attention of the robbers away from the hostages, you restrained yourself to _non-lethal_ means of incapicitation, and you didn’t even maim anyone. You did _really_ well,” he reiterated firmly.

A thought struck his mind. It was a horrible, evil thought.  The heroes of New Amsterdam would freak out. The Avengers would hate him.

The Avengers could kiss his ass.

“And this is _good_ news,” Peter said firmly.

“He sounds happy. You sound happy.”

“I am. And I am incredibly proud of you.”

Deadpool didn’t seem to know what to make of that, but he nodded and followed Peter up to a roof. “It feels like I’m about to get news I don’t want to hear,” the mercenary said.

“Probably,” said Peter thoughtfully. When they were out of range of bystanders he turned to Deadpool. “I can’t go into details,” because Deadpool would figure out who he was, “but my civilian life just became—complicated. It’s going to take a while to fix.” He heaved a sigh. “I won’t be able to watch the city while I’m fixing them,” he admitted.

The admission cost more than he thought it would. It felt like he was admitting he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t  _enough—_

And he wasn’t. But he was, as had been forcibly shown to him, only human. He couldn't keep doing all he was doing without breaking.

He moved on with his speech. “ So, since you’ve been doing so well, I thought I’d leave you in charge of the city.”

Deadpool blinked at him several times. Peter began to get nervous; what if he didn’t want to? What if he thought Spiderman was ditching him? 

“You—trust me?” asked Deadpool sounding shocked and nervous at the same time. “With your city?”

“ _Our_ city,” Peter said firmly. He reached out and put a hand on Deadpool’s shoulder. “You’ve been looking after it too.” Deadpool stared at the hand on his shoulder and Peter wished, for just a moment, he knew what was going through the other man’s head.

“What about the other heroes?” asked Deadpool finally. “The Avengers, the Four, good old Double D?”

Peter shrugged. “What  _about_ them?” he asked curiously. What did they have to do with anything?

“Well—they’re not going to be happy about me watching the city for you.”

Ah. Peter leaned against the edge of the building. “Tell me something; how many of them did you see while you were helping with that bank robbery?”

“I didn’t—none?”

Peter nodded. “Exactly. The Avengers move when the planet is threatened. That’s kind of their thing. The Four only mobilize for Dr. Doom. And Daredevil doesn’t poke his nose out of Hell’s Kitchen. What I do, what you’ve been doing is much, much smaller. The muggers, the carjackers, the rapists, the bank robbers—they’re all outside of everyone else’s notice. You and I are the only ones looking after the streets of the city.”

“Our city,” breathed Deadpool.

Peter nodded in encouragement. “That’s right.  _Our_ city. If they don’t like it, they can move their asses to help take care of it!”

Deadpool leaped to his feet, suddenly energized. “That’s right!” he shouted. “This is  _our_ city bitches! Bad guys beware!”

Peter grinned under his mask. “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “ Want to do one more patrol before I have to focus on civilian life?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” As they headed towards the edge of the roof, he asked, “Am I—am I the only one who knows?”

Peter thought quickly and then told a half-truth. “Peter knows,” he said to the mercenary. “I saw him before I saw you,” he said, thinking of that reflective window. “Sometimes I think the only reason he eats is the pictures he sells of me,” he added with absolute confidence.

“Aw! You’re such a softy Spidey!” chirped Wade happily before they dove off the side of the roof, Peter catching Wade before swinging them up to another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Customer: This is a really nice pen.  
> Me: Thank you. I brought it from home.  
> Customer: (slams pen point first into stainless steel counter)  
> Me: WHY?!
> 
> Two hours later, the same customer comes in with a digital coupon for cigarettes that takes off a dollar and a half. (For those who don't know, digital coupons can't be paused to be redeemed at a later time--once it's activated it's on a timer.)
> 
> Customer: You're really going to cancel my order because I'm thirteen cents short?  
> Me: Yup.  
> Customer: WHY?!
> 
> That's what I'd like to know.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool has a flashback to when he and Spiderman first met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time I used stars, they were used to tell character views apart. This time they're to indicate time lapses. I'm sorry for any confusion this may cause; I just couldn't figure out a better system.

Deadpool perched on the edge of a roof as he surveyed the landscape of the city that he shared with his favorite wall-crawling hero. A random gust of wind hit him and caused him to start slipping off and he had to dig his knife into the side of the wall to keep from falling off. “And I looked so good, too!” he complained as he swung himself towards the fire escape—and missed by three inches making him plummet to the ground.

[You are a sad sack of shit. Do you even know how long you’re going to be stuck like this?]

{Not even an hour in and you’re lying down on the job!}

Deadpool looked at the soggy bags of leather and Kevlar that made up the bottom of his suit and sighed. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while,” he announced to the air.

{Why? Why would the author do this? Isn’t the plot supposed to be moving along?}

“It is,” sighed Deadpool. “And you know what that means.”

[No.]

{No!}

“It’s time for a flashback.”

***

Deadpool crouched in the dark alley, drawing in the—mud? We’ll call it mud—on top of the pavement with a stick as he muttered to himself. “ I saw them  _here_ and  _here_ , but that doesn’t mean jack shit.”

[True. For a faceless evil group in uniform, they can sure get around unnoticed.]

{So? Go to all the places you’ve seen ‘em, blow ‘em sky-high, bada-boom! And we’re done.}

Deadpool frowned. “No,” he muttered. “Can’t do that.”

[That’s right. There could be hostages. There could be guinea pigs. There could be children.]

{There could be children who are guinea pigs!}

“Fuck.” Deadpool ran his hands over his head.

He was in the unwelcome position of being just sane enough to know how crazy he was. He  _could_ be tracking down a real, legitimate, coming-to-kill-him foe—or he could be terrorizing innocent people going about their normal, sane lives. He couldn’t  _tell._

“Need help? Whoa!” the figure that had spoken to Deadpool leaped back out of the sword’s range, narrowly missing getting cut in half.

[Oh, he needs help, all right.]

{But we’re all he has!}

Deadpool blinked around Yellow’s painful laughter. And blinked again. It looked like the figure had—stuck to the wall? Was that even possible? No, of course not. “Dammit,” he growled as he used the stick to wipe out what he’d written. “Hallucinating again.”

“What?” the hallucination asked. “Oh! No, I really am sticking to the walls. It’s like what I do.” Deadpool turned back and watched as the figure (was it really just a hallucination?) walked towards him. “I’m going to touch your shoulder. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Hallucinations weren’t real. They couldn't touch.

Which was why, a few moments later, when a hand placed itself on his shoulder again, Deadpool launched himself into the air and whirled, staring at the figure.

“Whoops, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the guy. He was wearing skin tight spandex, red and blue with white patterns on it that looked like a web complete with a black spider in the middle of his chest. “Are you okay?”

Deadpool stared. “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m—I’m Spiderman,” said the guy. Boy, it had to be a boy. Men did not have voices that high pitched naturally. Girl, maybe? No—probably guy—identified as male. “Who are you?”

“Deadpool.” The introduction was curt and to the point.

[Why is this guy talking to us?]

“Good question, why _are_ you talking to me?” asked Deadpool as he stared at the figure.

“You sounded upset,” Spiderman said. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“Peachy. Fine. Awesome. Go away.” Deadpool picked up his stick and began drawing in the mud (calling it mud) again.

“What are you drawing?”

{Aw! He sounds desperate!}

[He could be working for _them_!]

“Stuff,” he mumbled. “In my head.”

Spiderman crouched by Deadpool. “Tell me about it,” he said gently.

Deadpool opened his mouth and the word vomit spewed. “So, like, I think I’ve been seeing these guys around the city, guys dressed like bad guys—super bad no one cares if I kill them bad guys—but they always seem to disappear and I can’t tell if I’m actually seeing them or if it’s all in my head.” He stabbed the wooden stick against the ground and the bottom of it began to splinter from the force. “It wouldn't matter—I’m used to seeing shit no one else can see or even react to—but I think I saw them grab a kid and I’ve been trying to find them but I’m not even sure if they’re _real_.”

There was a moment of silence as Spiderman regarded him.

[This is the part where he tells you to get your shit together.]

{I don’t think that’s possible!}

“Well,” said Spiderman in a reasonable tone, “where do you think you saw the kid get taken?”

“What?” Deadpool turned to look at the costumed man. (If he was a man, he was a _really_ young one.

“I can go and do surveillance, see if there _was_ a kid taken, while you make a map.”

“A map?” Deadpool felt strange—like there was cotton in his ears.

“A map,” replied Spiderman firmly. “You can mark down all the places you think you’ve seen these people, and if they’re real I’ll help you root them out. If they’re not real, we can find out together.”

Deadpool stared at the ground and tried to think of the last time anyone had willingly spoken to him for this long.

[Colossus. Before you pissed him off.]

“Together?” he asked hesitantly.

“Together,” replied Spiderman firmly.

“But—they might not be real,” he said again, wondering if the masked man had missed that information the first go around. Deadpool certainly missed information all the time. “They might be something my brain made up.”

“Maybe. But with two of us looking, we’ll find out faster than you would on your own.”

“That—that’s actually smart,” admitted Deadpool.

The figure—Spiderman—snorts. “Trust me. The spandex only makes me look stupid.”

“Why spandex, anyway?”

Spiderman shrugged. “Better than sweats. You ready?”

Deadpool looked into the eye whites of the mask in front of him. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because if there _is_ a child out there who needs help—I need to help.” Spiderman put a gentle hand on his shoulder again. “And you sounded like _you_ needed help.”

They did, eventually find the missing child. They broke a child smuggling ring that looked nothing like the men that Deadpool thought he was looking for (his mind simply put a familiar outfit on a new villain). And to Deadpool, it didn’t matter that Colossus apologized, or that he was offered a room in the X-manor until he was booted out again. What mattered was that someone had _listened_. Someone had _cared_. Someone had worked with him for no other reason than he had sounded like he needed help.

***

“And that’s the end of the tooth-rotting sweetness of that flashback,” growled Deadpool as he jerked one of his healing legs into a new position. The other one was already fully healed, but he was waiting until he could stand on the other before moving. “There’s nothing that could make this chapter even sweeter.”

“Wade?”

[Spoke too soon.]

{Petey-Pie!}

“Peter!” cried Wade as the boy ran into the alley, a camera dangling around his neck.

“Wade, are you all right? What happened?” His sweet, precious boy helped him to stand up, balancing on his one good leg.

“Oh, nothing much Pete,” said Wade cheerfully. He hugged Peter close and leaned on him. There was nothing quite like the feel of having the other man tucked in close. And Peter didn’t hate it! “You won’t believe what happened with Spiderman tonight!” he said cheerfully.

[I’m going to gag.]

{Tacos? I want tacos! Lets’ go to that truck on Fifth and Main!}

“Want some tacos Baby Boy? I could really go for some tacos.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for your other leg to heal?” asked Peter, sounding worried.

Worried for _Deadpool_. Wade grinned at the boy. “Nah, I’m good. I always heal.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a new ID at work and a surprise visitor.

One of the security guards, Peter thought it was Happy, stopped him on the way into work. “You need a new ID,” the man said as he gestured Peter into the office.

There was nothing new about this. People were randomly assigned new ID’s all the time; it _was_ a little surprising he’d been tapped though, because he’d just gotten a new one the month prior. Still, it wasn’t _unusual_.

In the security office he gave them his information (again), had his picture taken (with glasses this time), and got his new ID—that he stared at. As a lowly lab assistant his ID had a light green border around it. Except—his new ID had an _orange_ border, and the letters SLA as his designation. “Hey,” he said as he firmly pushed out of the security office, “What’s SLA?”

The door closed behind him and he stared at it for a moment. Well, he knew, no matter what designation was on his ID, that he was due in Dr. Stacey’s lab. So he went up there. He didn’t quite expect his ID to work; he didn’t have the clearance, but—it did. He was able to get to the floor. He walked through the hall dividing Dr. Stacey’s lab from Dr. Banner’s lab keeping an eye on it, in case this was some kind of sophisticated prank.

His Spidey senses weren’t going off. The floor wasn’t coated in oil, or anything else that would be unpleasant later. His new ID opened the door to the lab, and he stared inside for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Stacey from her bench. “Didn’t you get your new ID?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Peter nervously, “but I’ve never heard of an SLA.” He stepped into the lab, reassured that he was supposed to be there.

“Pepper wrote it up. It’s a new position that basically means that I’ll have to share you with Bruce over there.” She gestured to the glass doors. Peter followed the gesture, met the bemused brown eyes of the scientist over there, who then waved at him.

After waving back Peter admitted, “I don’t really understand.”

Dr. Stacey sighed and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. Peter tensed; that body language used to come right before a reprimand—or being fired. “I know,” she said wearily. She turned away from the bench and gestured to one of the lab stools. “Take a seat Peter. I’m not going to bite you.” Nervously, he obeyed. “Look, you are a talented scientist. I know I’m not the first one to mention it.”

Peter’s hands twisted on the strap to his bag as he stared at her, wide-eyed. How much did she know? Oh, God, had they figured out about Norman? About Oscorp?

Dr. Stacey sighed again. “God. I was right.” Before Peter could ask what she was right about, she continued. “Now, I know that, for whatever reason—and I’m not accepting ‘I’m not good enough’ as a reason,” she added sharply with a fierce glare, “You don’t want your own lab. Fine. That works. We’re not going to force you to get one. _Tony_ wants you to play around in the big labs, see what you’re missing so you want one, and we’ve got him distracted.”

Peter blinked. “You do?” he asked in confusion. “How?”

Dr. Stacey smiled grimly. “It was Pepper’s idea. She put a box of cats on his desk, and now his office looks like a shrine to the Feline God. He’s got at least six cat scratchers in there, and you should hear him whine about how the kittens must not like them because they’re not using them.”

Peter, realizing that the cat and kittens in question had to be Puddles and her kittens, blinked. “They’re four days old,” he said.

The grin widened. “I know,” she said smugly. “Now we can actually get some work done. You’re to trade off working in my lab and in Bruce’s lab, and you’re to have time to work on your own projects. You know how to record everything?” He nodded. “Good. Don’t forget. Time to get to work.”

Peter nodded, put his bag on the hook by the door and got a lab coat, before heading back to work on the organic matrix. After a while he began to hum as he worked, fingers flying over the keys. He had an idea on how to get that neural network inlaid…

Life was actually, for the moment, really good. Deadpool was doing a great job patrolling the city—so good that the crime rate had gone down fifty percent. He wasn’t running into Eddie at the Bugle—because there was no Spiderman to compete for pictures of. And then there was his time with Deadpool. With Wade.

It was more than time for Peter to admit that he enjoyed spending time with Wade. Well, _more_ than enjoyed it. He was actually crushing really hard on the older merc, but wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. He couldn't actually engage in a real relationship with Wade unless he explained about Spiderman—but he was afraid that Wade would hate him. That Wade would look at the interactions of Peter and Spiderman together—and hate that Peter hadn’t told him. Hadn’t come clean the first time. Leave and cut both Peter and Spiderman out of his life forever.

Peter wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle that. He’d continue doing what he had to—of course—but beyond that…he might be dead. Dead inside, where it mattered no matter what the outside was doing. And he wasn’t sure he could handle that. If he could _survive_ it.

“You look grim. What are you thinking?”

“That we’re going to have mold the matrix before putting the network in it. The problem isn’t with the bots.”

“Do it.”

Peter found a mold to create both more of the matrix and used the solution he’d developed to keep it from breaking down. Upside—the solution worked. Downside—the matrix had to be submerged in it, constantly, in order to retain its shape. He’d have to rework the program for the microbots for the new mold as well.

There was a light knocking at the door that Peter ignored as his hands flew over the keys. Almost there. No, not quite. That bit wouldn't account for the new bends in the mold. Need to backtrack and redo it.

“Oh My God!”

The panicked wail had Peter (why didn’t his senses alert him to danger?) whirl to see—Wade, in full Deadpool regalia and holding a huge, grease-stained bag in one hand. “Petey-Pie,” he called, voice slightly muffled by the thick glass, “can you join me for lunch?”

Peter felt his face split into a smile.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Deadpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm in a position where I need to stay awake and am typing away like a madwoman. Let me know if you see any typos or grammatical errors. I can't fix what I don't know is there.

“And we have tacos, nachos, enchiladas, tamales, and lasagna,” said Wade as he laid out the food on the roof.

“Lasagna?” asked Peter. His adorable little nose wrinkled again.

“In case you were getting sick of Mexican.”

The two of them were on the roof, in the garden under Stark’s patent pending Green Dome; a small garden under a dome designed to maintain a temperature of seventy-five, no matter the weather or time of year.

[And the fact that the pearly, opalescent dome happens to be nestled between the round, purple walls, means absolutely nothing.]

{Shut the fuck up! We’re spending time with Petey!}

Peter smiled and Wade’s heart almost melted. Almost, because it _had_ melted once—but this was the good kind of melt. “Tired of Mexican?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Heresy!”

Wade laughed as he watched Peter dig into the food. Part of him couldn't help but remember Spidey’s comment, that the only reason the kid could eat was the pictures he took, and Spidey—Spidey was gone. Ghost. Vanished.

{We should have slipped a tracker on him.}

[We would have lost his trust.]

“Wade? Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Peter.

Oh, right. There was that. “Nah, I’m good,” he said firmly.

Peter’s face softened. “Wade,” he said gently.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Wade knew where he was going and Wade wasn’t going there. “It’s all good,” he said firmly, trying to derail Peter.

Peter, who had all the stubbornness of dog trying to get a piece of meat just out of reach. “Wade,” the younger man said firmly, “it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But would you want to?”

Peter looked down at the taco he was holding. After a moment he sighed and looked back up again as he adjusted his glasses with the heel of his hand. “Wade, if you don’t want me to look, I won’t try to force you,” he said gently. “I just hope that, maybe, with some time…”

Time they wouldn't have. Sure, Peter wanted to spend time with him _now_ , but he wouldn't later.

{He’d run for the hills as soon as he saw your fucked up skin.}

[I think you’re giving this kid’s sanity too much credit. He likes _us_. He relaxes around _us_.]

{But he’s never seen our skin!}

Peter looked down again and Wade heard him mumble, “I just hate eating alone.”

{He’s depressed! Hug him!}

[Just eat a fucking taco and make his week.]

But Wade hesitated. He didn’t want to inflict the sight of _any_ of his skin on his friend. But—Peter hated eating alone, and he didn’t want to do anything that Peter didn’t like. Remembering Spidey, he offered a compromise. “What if—we ate back to back. Would that work?”

Peter’s face lit up in a smile. “Sure,” he said happily and _turned his back on the mad mercenary_.

Wade felt nervous, but pressed his back against the younger man’s before taking a taco and rolling his mask up to his nose. “Is this good?” he asked nervously.

“Good,” agreed Peter. From the sounds of it he’d already stuffed more food in his mouth.

The single word was comforting, like Spidey during a patrol night when they ate out on a roof, waiting for the next crime before heading off in different directions.

[Is it?]

Before Wade could respond, Peter spoke, distracting him. “How are patrols going?” he asked.

A pause. How did Peter know about the patrols?

[You told him, you idiot. When you slipped off the roof and were healing your legs.]

{We were so excited! Spiderman trusts us!}

“I’m not sure,” Wade admitted. “I’m trying to do good, to do what Spidey would do—but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

“What?” demanded Peter. “You’re doing a great job!”

Ah, Peter. Of course _he_ was supportive. Wade picked at the edge of one of his katana straps. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just think—I think Spidey would do it better.”

There was a moment of silence behind him before Peter said, “Wade, I’m going to turn around now.”

{What? No, our face is still exposed!}

[He _warned_ us so we could _cover_. Idiot.]

Wade quickly pulled the mask down. He didn’t want to risk Peter seeing his face. No matter how kind the younger man was now, he knew it would evaporate if the guy saw his skin. “What—what is it?” he asked nervously.

Peter suddenly enveloped the mercenary in a hug. It was—strange to _be_ hugged by Peter instead of the one _hugging_ Peter, but it felt—nice. Comforting. Warm.

[Don’t get too attached. No matter how careful we are, he’ll learn about our skin one day.]

{No! I couldn't stand it if Peter left!}

“I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” Peter said. His voice was soft and grim at the same time. “You are strong. You do a lot for this city. You are doing _better_ than Spiderman ever did.” The arms tightened slightly. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I know.”

Wade was silent for a moment as he thought. “How did you meet Spidey, Pete?”

Peter sighed and Wade felt pressure on his head as if Peter was resting his head there. “I’m not going to answer that,” Peter said firmly. “Because—if I answer that, I’m going to have to lie. I don’t want to lie to you Wade.”

Wade turned to look up at him. “Peter,” he said softly.

An explosion occurred on the horizon. Both of them turned to see smoke spiraling into the sky. Wade felt his heart clench. He didn’t want to leave. He’d just started spending time with Peter. He’d been patrolling so much that the two of them hadn’t had a lot of time to meet.

Peter pulled away. “Go,” he said gently. “Go save lives, Hero.”

Wade stood up, still looking at the smoke. “I’m not a hero,” he protested. He’d done things; horrible things. Too many to count, too awful to speak of. No hero could ever have done them.

Peter grabbed one of the katana straps, spun Wade around, and smiled into his face. “You’re _my_ hero,” he said softly, warmly. “You ever think of that?”

Wade hugged Peter close and tight for a moment. “I’ll be back,” he vowed.

Peter hugged him back. “I’ll be waiting,” he responded. Wade reluctantly let the younger go, turned, and took out his grappling hook to make his way to the fire as quickly as possible.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sends Clint and Natasha on a mission.

Tony looked at his two helpers. Right now all he had were Natasha and Clint, but they’d be all he needed. And Pepper was out doing something else, so she wasn’t going to barge in with her “logic.”

Natasha poked a small, perfectly manicured finger towards the cat basket on Tony’s desk. Puddles (what a stupid name for a cat; could he change the name? Of course he could change the name; he was Tony Stark, all he had to do was figure out a better name) lazily batted at the finger with a paw. The kittens were, once again, nursing.

Clint looked around at the transformed office. There were scratching posts in all the corners, tucked up against the desk, and one with a basket right under the window. There was a small, working fountain that was just at the right height for an adult cat, with a slightly wider (though shallower) pool under it at the right height for a wandering kitten. The cats themselves were situated in a huge, plush doggie bed.

Clint let out a low whistle. “Damn, Tony. You’ve gone crazy cat lady on us.”

“Pepper should be proud,” muttered Natasha before turning to Tony.

Who was, once again, reminded that their first loyalty was to SHIELD, their second was to Pepper, and he came third. Which was fine. He had no problem with that; SHIELD had taken in the two of them and Pepper was amazing. “I didn’t call you here about the cats.”

Natasha merely quirked a small smile, pulled out her phone (one of his Starkphones, he was pleased to note), and pulled up a text that read, _see me about naming kittens_.

Tony rolled his eyes. “It was a cover,” he explained.

Clint glances around the room again. “You sure?” he asked.

One of the kittens rolled to the flat portion of the bed and Tony caught it with a massive hand (compared to the kitten) before gently rolling it back to its mother, who groomed it like nothing had happened. “I’m sure,” he said grimly. “When’s the last time either of you saw Spiderman?”

Natasha shrugged. “Couple days ago. He was last seen working with Deadpool.”

Deadpool—who had taken over patrolling the city for the human spider. Deadpool—who was single-handedly reducing the crime rate of the city. Deadpool—who was an insane murderer to everyone who wasn’t Spiderman…or Peter. For some reason the merc was obsessed with the lab assistant.

“Right.” Tony tapped the top of his desk, the computer part, to bring up a hologram of a building. On the side of the building was what looked like a giant spider egg sack. “This popped up about an hour ago.”

“You think that’s him.” The comment was flat. An observation, nothing else.

“Okay, Spiderman spins webs,” said Clint, “but we’ve got no evidence that he spins—whatever the Hell that is.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped from the image to Tony. “You think he’s hurt and spun the cocoon to protect himself.”

Tony snorted. “I think Deadpool is unpredictable.”

Clint leaned against the wall as he looked at the image. “Did you try running back the tape, or whatever you call it, on your computer thing to see what made it?”

“Oh, why didn’t _I_ think of that?” demanded Tony. He sighed. “Computer thing” indeed. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he liked Spiderman so much was that the vigilante had a way with technology that rivaled his own. “The camera that image came from is a special time-lapse camera set up to take pictures of the sky against the city over the course of a day.”

“Why?” asked Clint.

“Not important. The important part is that it takes one picture every two hours, so according to this camera one moment the side of the building was clear, and the next this was there.” Tony gestured to the hologram.

“Okay.” Natasha looked at the image again before focusing on Tony. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to get him out of the cocoon and see how badly hurt he is.”

“Uh—I’m no expert,” Clint said looking at Tony, “but if he _is_ badly hurt—won’t forcing him out of the cocoon hurt him more?”

“Nothing Bruce can’t cure,” Tony said firmly. He was certain of it; he’d run all the algorithms to predict every possible scenario.

“And why are _we_ here?” demanded Natasha grimly. “It sounds like you have everything figured out. Why don’t you just suit up, go down there, and break into the cocoon?”

“Three reasons. One; it’s broad daylight and there’s a clear sky. The _moment_ I show myself all suited up, Paparazzi will surround me wherever I go, and _if_ Spiderman is that badly hurt, I don’t want to risk his identity becoming public knowledge. Two; you may not believe it, but there are actually _things_ that need to be done to keep a company like this running.”

“I believe it,” offered Clint. “I just thought Pepper was doing it.”

Natasha wouldn't be distracted. “And three?” she asked.

“Three; the gray kitten keeps rolling out of the basket and someone needs to be here to catch it. Pepper’s busy and I have been _forbidden_ ,” a twist of his mouth showed how he felt about _that_ , “to call any of the assistants or people below the ranks of Bruce and Gwen, and _they_ have their own shit to do.” Before Clint could accuse him of being a crazy cat lady again (rude) he quickly pulled up another image. Deadpool, on the roof of the tower, having what appeared to be a cozy lunch with Peter, the lab assistant. “I _also_ ,” he added firmly, “don’t like the thought of leaving my Tower undefended while that maniac is taking lunch on the top of it.”

“Could have led with that,” muttered Clint.

Natasha’s eyes tracked to the moving image (it was being shown in real-time, unlike the picture), and Tony had no doubt that she was memorizing every detail of the scene just in case it might be relevant later. “Why do you let Deadpool into your Tower?” she asked.

Tony snorted. “Have you ever _tried_ to keep him out of someplace? Guy takes ‘Go away’ like an engraved invitation.” Which sounded better than admitting to the two of them that he’d basically hired Deadpool to stalk one of his staff.

Natasha was still taking in the scene while Clint laughed. “He seems awfully cozy with that kid.”

Tony’s gut twisted. Peter _was_ still a kid. A kid who had been inflicted with Deadpool for days now. Sure he seemed fine, and Pepper had assured him that the kid actually _enjoyed_ Deadpool’s company (seriously—how?), but still—he was a _kid_. He should be playing video games, making insane inventions in the company’s big labs—not having to play host to mad mercenary. And that was Tony’s fault. He’d fix it—somehow. He just had to figure out how.

Which wasn’t helped by the fact that Tony hoped Deadpool would find out why Peter didn’t want to get his own lab.

Tony focused on the two in front of him and spread his arms. “There you have it. Will the two of you go investigate, since I’m stuck here for the time being.”

Clint grinned at Tony. “Sure—cat-mom,” he said sweetly.

“We’ll find your spider for you,” Natasha agreed before walking out, Clint close behind.

Tony waited until the two of them, the only two people SHIELD had in the Tower, were long gone before he pulled up his computer program JARVIS. “What did you find out?” he asked the computer.

“Sir, there is no recorded information as to why SHIELD wants Spiderman’s identity,” the program replied. “However, I could only go so deep without alerting them to the intrusion. Should I dig further?”

“No,” said Tony firmly. “I don’t want SHIELD knowing even a hint of what you’re capable of. Anything else on Spiderman?”

“No, sir,” JARVIS replied. “It would appear that the vigilante knows all of my blind spots. He disappears into them, but always at times when it is impossible to check the people around to see who appears. Should I continue to keep an eye out?”

“Please,” said Tony. There was the electronic beep of the program disengaging the communication mode. He didn’t really believe Spiderman was in the cocoon—but it made a good excuse to get the two SHIELD agents out of his Tower so that he could interrogate JARVIS.

Tony had been hired to find out who Spiderman was. He would do it—there was no question of whether or not he would find out the identity, but _when_. However he was—curious, so to speak about how _desperate_ SHIELD was to have the information. There had to be a reason.

He was going to find out what it was.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha zoom in on the cocoon--only to be surprised.

“So,” Clint asked as he fiddled with his retractable bow (a Stark special; being the agent in charge of Tony Stark had its perks), “you really think Spiderman is in that thing?”

Natasha moved through the crowd like a knife cutting through butter. “I think,” she said grimly, “that there is an organic, unidentified mass in the middle of one of the most populated cities on this planet.”

Clint sighed. He’d really been trying to get away from the active duty, away from fighting monsters and evil organizations. That was one of the reasons he’d jumped when the job to shadow Stark, also known to the world was Iron Man, came up. Iron Man was basically armor. He could hold his own in a fight, unlike the last asshole that Clint had shadowed resulting in the scar on his shoulder and, more importantly, in him sleeping on the couch for three months. He didn’t want to do that again.

He wasn’t certain why Natasha was there. Sure, Stark wasn’t exactly the first person to get two shadows, but an assassin? Even a former one? He was surprised that Stark wasn’t more suspicious. Or maybe he was, and just hid it well. Who knew with the billionaire?

“I hope it doesn’t have sharp teeth,” muttered Clint as they neared the area. “Or claws,” he added remembering the scar. “Claws _suck_.”

“Quiet.”

Clint looked up. He wasn’t certain where the camera the computer had gotten the picture had come from, but there were a few details omitted. Or maybe he hadn’t been able to see them very well. Or maybe he just hadn’t recognized them. He _was_ getting old. Well, old for an active agent, anyway. SHIELD had a very low number of retired active agents for a reason.

The thing was on the building, about five floors up, neatly attached to the wall under two windows and above two more. It was tucked away from the main street in a space between buildings that was too narrow to be called an alley. It was roughly six feet long by four feet wide, and there was an odd, almost papery look to the dark yellow thing. It didn’t exactly look like a cocoon though. It looked more like—

“A nest,” swore Natasha.

“Should I call backup?” asked Clint. He _wanted_ to call for backup—he wanted to get far away from that—that thing. There was something about it that screamed it wasn’t from this world, and he didn’t want anything to do with it.

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not yet,” she said firmly. She walked into the space between the buildings and began to swarm up the wall.

Clint blinked. She could climb almost as well as Spiderman. He hadn’t known that—but presumably SHIELD did. He stood on the ground, bow out and arrow (armed with a light tranq dart) ready at the string. Natasha glanced down to make sure he was in position and then leaned over to slice open the cocoon.

Clint wasn’t entirely certain what he was expecting. Some kind of eggs; mutant insect, something. Certainly not what came out of the cocoon.

The figure of a girl, a teenage girl, tumbled out. Two wings spread from her back, hit the sides of the buildings, and he could hear the sound of bones snapping. Except—it didn’t sound quite right for it to be bones. He frowned.

“Ow! What?” She looked up. “Oh, come on!” The voice was dripping with scorn. “What did I do to _you_?” The wings stretched out. Clint blinked as she flew up—with two perfect wings. “Do you have _any_ idea how hard this is when they’re ripped?” she muttered as she hovered and began to pluck the cocoon off the wall.

What? What was he looking at? This didn’t make sense. Still muttering the figure flew up to the roof. Clint and Nat quickly followed.

“Can’t _believe_ ,” muttered the girl when they reached her. It looked like she was—rolling the cocoon up. Suddenly she whirled and glared at the two of them, sunlight glinting off amber eyes. “Can I _help_ you?” she demanded coldly.

Now that she was standing in sunlight, Clint got a good look at her. She was thin, had prominent cheekbones, was wearing a pink leotard that shimmered oddly in the light, had shoulder-length light brown hair, and was wearing shoes with no socks. That was odd; even the street children wore socks. True, the socks didn’t always fit, and sometimes sagged over the edge of the shoes, but everyone in New Amsterdam wore socks. Oh, and she had two large, white feathered wings that were easily ten feet wide _each_.

“You can tell us your name,” Nat says in her grim voice. Clint winces. He recognizes the tone; she’s no longer Natasha—she’s Black Widow and aimed to kill.

The girl looks off to the side and taps her chin thoughtfully. “You know what—I think I won’t.”

“You _need_ to tell us who you are.”

“ _You_ need to learn to knock.” The girl tossed the compacted cocoon over her shoulder—and it bounced right off the edge of the roof. “Don’t worry,” she said looking at him. “It went into the dumpster at the bottom. I don’t believe in littering.”

“Who _are_ you?” Clint had thought that SHIELD had records on every mutant and mutate in the country. Clearly, he had been wrong; the girl featured nowhere in them.

She rolled her large, amber eyes. “You really need to get past that,” she told him pertly. “Damn it.” She looked at the horizon for a moment. Blinked. Rubbed her eyes. “Is that—is that a purple dick?”

“It’s Stark Tower.”

“Damn.” She stared at it for a moment, wings rustling absently. Finally she shook herself. “I hope he hired an interior decorator.”

Clint, who had made much the same comment when _he_ first saw the monstrosity, snickered. The girl looked pleased with herself. Natasha made a vague noise of disgust. “We should go. Spiderman isn’t here.”

“Spiderman?” The girl looked interested—but didn’t get any closer.

“You know him?” asked Clint.

“Maybe? Probably not? I’m not sure.” The girl stared vacantly into the distance.

Clearly the teen was a few bricks short of a house. Clint turned to Natasha. “She’ll be no help.”

“Stark’s on it,” Natasha said curtly, eyes never leaving the girl.

Clint didn’t think she was a threat. She seemed more likely to hurl insults than attacks. He snorted. “Do you honestly think Stark can figure out who the kid is when no one else can? Especially now that he’s gone missing?”

“Wait,” the girl said. She brushed an errant hair out of her face before looking at them. “You guys—are trying to figure out Spiderman’s identity? And he’s gone missing?”

“I’m sorry,” said Natasha as she turned to the girl, folding arms over her chest and staring in a manner that Clint had seen shake raw recruits. “Who invited you to this conversation?”

The girl was made of sterner stuff than SHIELD recruits. “You did,” she snarked back, not afraid in the slightest. “When you attacked me.”

“New Amsterdam has laws about people sleeping on the streets,” Clint said, hoping to defuse Nat before she could attack the girl. He liked her. She had spunk.

She raised a thin brown eyebrow as she looked at him. “Get a lot of foot traffic five floors up?” she asked.

Clint opened his mouth to respond—when an explosion went off. The three turned to see smoke billowing into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--has anyone figured out who she is yet?


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt walks into a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so--I've never written from the POV of a blind character before. Please let me know how I did.

Matt paused. There was a certain—scent in the air. Vaguely familiar; as if he’d smelled it before. It tickled at his memory. What was it?

The stairs of the building _seemed_ empty—and he paused. They shouldn't be empty—he _should_ be heading to meet a client about a possible suit against her landlord. He still remembered the woman in his office.

The old woman, smelling of dry parchment and peppermint had, in a voice roughened by decades of smoking, explained that her landlord was purposefully refusing to repair things in her apartment that were covered by her rental agreement; things like the heating/air unit, access to hot water, plumbing that actually worked. Her heartbeat had been on the fast side, but that was normal for some older people.

He turned his head trying to get a sense of—of anyone. The building seemed deserted. There weren’t even rats—and there were _always_ rats; this was New Amsterdam.

A high pitched giggle made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Figured it out yet?” taunted a voice.

For a moment he was surrounded by that _smell_ , he could hear cloth rustling, hear a heartbeat in a chest—

And then nothing. As though he was utterly alone in the building again. He frowned. That—shouldn’t be possible. “Hello?” he called out, as though he were slightly timid, playing the part of the dutiful lawyer to the hilt.

The smell, rustling, and heartbeat returned. “Oh,” said a cheery voice, “no need to play that with me, no need at all. I know who you are—Devil.”

Perhaps Spiderman had a point about the whole secret identity thing. The only person who didn’t seem to know that Matt was also Daredevil was the other person in his tiny law firm. “Do I know you?” he asked warily as he picked up his cane. More than a distraction and prop for blindness, the wood was perfectly balanced to also serve as a weapon.

More giggling. “Not _yet_ ,” whispered a promise. “But you will. Soon you _all_ will.”

It vanished again—but Matt was ready this time. All buildings made sound. The timbers creaked. The pipes rattled. The electricity hummed. All Matt had to do was listen for where the sounds weren’t. For the silence. He swung the stick around and both felt and heard the satisfying crunch as it connected with its target.

“Oh, I’ll remember _this_ ,” the voice said. A hum sounded under the voice.

With a start Matt realized he was listening to a voice distorter. Why would someone bother using one of those on him? He couldn't _see_.

Maybe that was exactly why his unknown enemy was using one. So Matt would have no way of knowing who was if they crossed paths in the street. After all, he knew who _Matt_ was. “Why are you attacking me?” he asked curiously.

Again with that high pitched giggling. “Nothing personal,” the voice said. “I just needed bait!”

Then Matt remembered where he’d smelled the scent before. He’d come across Spiderman on a roof, pulling pieces of shrapnel out of his body. Pieces that had smelled like blood—and something else. Something that was suddenly all around Matt.

He vaulted over the side of the stairs and down a level, expertly landing with just the slightest bend of the knee for cushion before sprinting down the stairs. The voice followed on something that hummed laughing maniacally as he tried to get out of the building and onto the street, leaving the pretense of the handicapped lawyer behind him as he tried to put on speed. He flinched as he heard a distinctive click and the sound of something igniting.

He heard the sound of wind against glass and threw himself through it, trying to outrun the blast. For one, terrifying moment, he was falling with the explosion pushing him further out from the building and knew, just _knew_ there was no way he could get out of this intact and might not even _survive—_

Then he heard the thundering sound of wing beats and two small hands caught him around the arms, just a little way from his pits. “Got ya,” said a satisfied voice as wind from the wings rushed around him.

“Little more warning next time!” snarled a voice low on the ground.

“Next time you can walk!” the person holding Matt snarled back. The voice was distinctly feminine and young. Teenager. “Come on,” she said gently to Matt as they landed, wind brushing against the pavement before them. “I wonder if fire’s _supposed_ to be that color here,” she muttered.

Her heartbeat was quick, but steady and strong, like it was supposed to be rapid. She smelled of almonds and ocean water, an odd combination, and he could feel the wings cupping around both of them, like she was trying to protect them. He could also hear an odd sound, like thick liquid running through a large tube.

“Dora wants to meet you,” the girl said. “Is that okay?”

“Dora?” asked Matt curiously. He could hear several other people heading towards the building that was now engulfed in flames.

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s a— _dora—_ ble,” the girl said. “She’s also a slime. She’s not in danger of exploding,” the girl added quickly.

“That’s good to know,” said Matt forcing a smile, slipping into his lawyer persona. There was no reason to believe this girl knew who he was, and it would be best if the general public was not aware of his other identity. He held out a hand and delightful cool engulfed it, currents running between his fingers.

“Just the surface Dora,” warned the girl suddenly.

“Ponyo!” a high-pitched voice said as the gel around his hand quivered in time with the sound.

“You ruined it!” snarled another high pitched—this time artificially high pitched—voice. Matt could hear the hum as it circled the two of them in the air. “You stole my bait!”

“Bait?” the girl sounded puzzled.

“Now Spiderman will never come!”

“Dora,” the girl said softly, almost under her voice—but perfectly audible to Matt. “Shield.”

“Ponyo!” The cool gel withdrew from Matt’s hand and suddenly there was something almost solid, muffling the outside noises.

“Remember,” muttered the girl to herself, “hold back and aim between the vitals. Okay.”

“ _I always aim between the vitals_. _”_ A different voice. A different time. Same odd choice of words.

“You can’t help here!” the voice from earlier snarled at the girl.

“Excuse me,” the girl said, “I am _more_ than capable of kicking both your asses.”

Matt heard the absolute truth in that statement, delivered with more than a hint of irritation. “Dora,” Matt said softly, “can you tell me who your friend is?”

The wall around him vibrated. “Ponyo?”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool arrives on the scene. :)

Wade landed beside what looked to be a clear pink dome with two small blue eyes on one side that tracked him. “Freaky,” he said.

“Ponyo?”

[It talks!]

{Should we kill it? _Can_ we kill it?}

“And what do you want with Spiderman?” demanded a voice Wade vaguely recognized. He turned to see the archer dude from the Avengers on the ground, bow out, arrow loaded and pointed towards—Wade blinked.

[Is that costume as ridiculous as I think it is?]

{Is—is that a hover-jet? Why don’t _we_ have one? I want one!}

[For what?]

{We could take Sweetie Petey on a carpet ride!}

[You’re hopeless.]

“Hey Green and Gold,” said Deadpool with a wave. “You a Packers fan?”

The grotesquely formed face turned and looked at him. “ _You_ ,” breathed the man.

{Do we know him?}

[Well, he obviously knows us.]

“Deadpool,” said a grim voice, “what are you doing here?”

“Gasp! It’s the other spider-babe!” Deadpool sidled over to her and didn’t even flinch when a small dagger pierced the side closest to her. “I’ve been asked to protect the city.”

The archer shot him an incredulous look, not even wavering his arrow from the target in the air. “By who?” he demanded.

Wade flung his chest out, propped his hands on his hips, and proclaimed, “Spiderman!”

He was interrupted by laughter. Honest, joyful laughter that wasn’t aimed at him.

[We have a lot of experience with laughter aimed at us.]

There, not two meters away, was a girl. She was holding her sides and laughing. “Oh, my, God!” she gasped. “Your faces!” Another glance at the archer and Black Widow and she burst into fresh peals of laughter.

{Someone’s happy.}

[There’s something about her that seems familiar.]

“Stop ignoring me!” snarled the person on the hover-jet petulantly. He threw something that looked like a small pumpkin at the laughing girl.

A wing came up, showing that they weren’t ornamental, blocked the pumpkin—

Only for it to explode in a burst of feathers, flesh and blood. She flipped the wing behind her—

[Anyone else notice that wing is whole now?]

—and turned a glare at the green guy. “Rude much?” she demanded pertly.

“What are you child?” asked the guy as he flew around the girl in circles.

She snorted. “None of your business. And you wouldn't know me anyway,” the girl replied. “I’m not from here.”

Wade stared at the girl. Accent placed her in upper East Side New Amsterdam. How could she say she wasn’t from there?

[There’s something strange here.]

{You say that _all_ the time.}

“And why is everyone looking for Spiderman anyway? Wasn’t he just swinging about on the streets a couple nights ago?” The girl seemed—puzzled. Like she didn’t know.

{Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s really not from around here.}

The green guy laughed and the tinny laughter echoed oddly. “Spiderman,” he said, “doesn’t take breaks or days off.”

“Then he’s long overdue.” The girl looked around at the stunned faces and snorted. “Seriously—even if the guy enjoys being Spiderman—”

{Of course he does!}

“—he needs to take a break and think about something else for a while. Everyone needs a break from everything, no matter how much they love that thing. Mental health 101, people.” She looked around with wide amber eyes, sighed, and stretched out a hand towards the pink dome. “Dora,” she called affectionately.

“Ponyo!” The blue eyes closed, the pink retracted into a small blob that settled on the palm of the girl’s hand, and revealed a very familiar looking blind lawyer.

[Not that there are that many blind lawyers in New Amsterdam.]

“Later,” the girl said with a wave before taking off into the sky.

{She can _FLY_!}

[What did you think she had wings _for_?]

“Spiderman asked you to look after us?” asked the archer warily as he regarded Wade.

Wade wasn’t surprised. Most Avengers, Hell, most _heroes_ , looked at Wade like he was a bomb that could explode at any moment. Which—fair. Even _he_ knew he wasn’t the most stable, but—but Spidey had faith in him. And he was Peter’s hero. The thought warmed him even in the face of icy detachment.

“Deadpool,” the lawyer said, “would you mind helping me back to my office? I don’t want anyone to know how capable I am.”

“Sure thing!” Helping people was what Spidey did, after all. So, while Spidey was fixing whatever he needed to fix in his civvie life, Deadpool would do what Spidey would do.

{We should make wristbands! WWSD! What Would Spidey Do?}

[No one would _wear_ them, dumbass.]

One of the first things that Spidey had gone over with him when they started patrolling together was how to properly help someone. No matter how tempting it was, unless the person in question was in immediate, life-threatening danger, they were not to be picked up and lugged to their destination like a sack of luggage. And no, _putting_ them in life-threatening danger was not allowed.

Wade held out an arm and Matt, after a moment of hesitation, put his hand on it. The two of them started walking. “Do you know where my office is?” asked Matt.

[Is he serious?]

“Double D, _everyone_ knows where your office is. And your apartment. And your friends. And you, my man, have no _life_.”

There was a brief tightening of Matt’s fingers on Deadpool’s wrist, but he ignored the comment for the moment. “You’re very good at this,” Matt observed as Wade led them through the streets.

Wade snorted. “First night we patrolled together, Webs took me aside and gave me a lecture on the best way to help someone cross the road. I figure this is the same thing, but longer.”

“You really respect Spiderman a lot, don’t you?” asked Matt.

“Oh, yeah! Webs is the best!”

[What about Peter?]

“And so is Peter.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Street rat Ellie meets the figure she saw in an alley.

Ellie swore softly as her eyes roamed the square. A small packet of land, tucked out of sight, away from the streets, that people used as a garden. Good for nothing but tourists, or so they’d learned. Especially today, with all the uniformed officers filling the corners. Looking for the street kids.

And where the officers weren’t, there were people she recognized as being from  Runaways Unite. There were people who believed all that bull they spewed about only wanting the best for the children and wanting to get the children off the streets—Ellie wasn’t one of them.  Yes, Runaways Unite took kids off the street—but where did they go? They were never seen, or heard from again. And since they were street kids, no one cared.

“Shit, shit, shit!” swore Ellie when she realized they were zooming in on _her_. Panic bubbled up inside her. What was she going to do? She had to get away, she had to escape—but _how_?

“Jenny!” a happy voice called before arms wrapped around her. Ellie froze and that same voice whispered in her ear, “Play along. You’re surrounded.”

“Suzy!” said “Jenny” happily as she looked up into the face of her maybe savior. The smiling, gentle face above her wasn’t with Runaways Unite, and was far too young to be an officer.

“You didn’t get lost, did you?” asked “Suzy” as both of them kept an eye on the people zooming in, suddenly interested in greenery.

“I’m _here_!” Ellie whined. If it was more fear than petulance, no one had to know.

The older girl laughed. “Good,” she said smugly as she took Ellie’s hand. “Come on,” she added, “I want to show you around.” They went over the different performing groups, getting snacks and drinks.

After they lost the adults Ellie took a deep breath and looked at the older girl again. Her wide amber eyes both looked innocent and mischievous. The wings tucked against her back  _looked_ artificial—unless someone, like Ellie, looked close enough to see the individual feathers twitching as various parts of the wings moved under them, like a restless bird getting ready to fly. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Ellie warily. She was well aware that if she’d been someone else, or anything else, she would have started the conversation by asking who the older girl was—but that was a forbidden question among the street children.

“I’m looking for someone. Someone bad, who probably doesn’t want to be found.” She stared into space and a fist clenched on the bench. Ellie heard the groan of stressed wood. “And I don’t want them to find me first, or know I’m here before I’m ready to take them to their judgment.”

Ellie didn’t know why she was drawn to the older girl. Maybe it was the assist with no expectations. Maybe Ellie was just in a good mood. Maybe it was the free food. “Do you have a base of operations?” she asked. 

The older girl sighed. “I  _thought_ I did—but it attracted too much attention.”

That was a problem Ellie, and the other street children, were well acquainted with.  No matter how safe, or central, a base was, if it attracted too much attention it would be found out. Then the people would be rooted out.

As she was mulling this information over the older girl asked, “Who are the people with the red scarves as belts?”

No. A quick glance that didn’t look anything like a glance showed Ellie that her fears were true. “Snipers,” she whispered. There was no way out. “What do I do?” she asked worriedly.

“Well,” suggested the older girl for a moment, “you could ask the big sister next to you for help.” When Ellie turned wide eyes at her she shrugged. “I need context though.”

Ellie leaned closer, like she was feeling sleepy. She felt anything but. “The Snipers are a gang that don’t like us in their territory.” The other gangs didn’t really like the street children either—but didn’t interfere. After all, the children weren’t running drugs, weapons, or stolen tech  _and_ could be recruited after a certain age. In most of the gang territories the children weren’t encouraged—but tolerated, and tolerated could mean the difference between life and death.

Ellie wasn’t certain what the Snipers had against the children. She’d seen them cross several turfs just to surround and beat a child up, leaving said child almost breathing. No one other than  Mr. Parker helped the children, and there seemed to be some kind of code that allowed the Snipers to cross territories without getting pounced on—as long as they were in pursuit of a street kid.

“Do you mind being touched?” asked the older girl with honest curiosity.

That was an odd question. “Not—not really?” she said softly.

“Good.” Suddenly the older girl picked Ellie up in her arms and then spread her wings before launching towards the sky. Ellie went silent as part of her gibbered in terror at _being so far away from the ground_ , but soon the girl landed—in a different part of New Amsterdam, far away from the Snipers. “Can you get home from here?” the older girl asked.

Ellie stared at the girl. She was a  _mutant—_ but she wasn’t one of the ones that would bundle people off and take them to who-knows-where. Clearly, she meant to release Ellie—as soon as she was sure the girl could take care of herself. 

And she hadn’t asked for any information that would let her track Ellie down.

“I can,” Ellie said as resolve hardened in her. “Would you—” The words stuck in her throat. She hadn’t said anything like them before. “Would you like to come too?”

The older girl, instead of immediately accepting the offer, frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked. “I’m a stranger.”

Ellie shrugged and slammed her hands in her pockets. “You’re not a bad stranger. You don’t ask the bad questions. My name’s Ellie,” she offered. Names, real names, were rare coin among the street kids. You never knew who was asking about you or who had hired them. She’d heard stories…

The older girl frowned even deeper. “I can’t tell you my name,” she said anxiously. “It’s—I’m too distinctive. Put my name with the sudden appearance of someone with wings and the person I’m chasing will rabbit right out of the city—and I can’t stray too far.”

“What if—what if I gave you a name? Just while you’re here,” added Ellie. She wasn’t entirely certain why she was trying so hard to get this older girl—but something was telling her to. She always listened to her instincts. After all, the last time they’d prodded her this hard they’d led her to Mr. Parker. 

The face cleared up. “All right,” agreed the older girl amiably. “You give me a name, and I’ll whisper mine to you, to make sure no one else hears it.”

“Agreed.” Ellie squinted at the older girl as she tried to figure out a good name. “Angel,” she said suddenly.

Thin brown eyebrows raised. “Because of the wings? Not bad.” True to her word she leaned down, put her head next to Ellie’s ear, and whispered.

Ellie blinked. “That’s a weird name.”

The older girl shrugged. “What can I say? Distinctive.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman has a meeting.

Norman swiped the lab bench clear in a fit of rage. He had been close. So! Close! He knew, just knew, that if he’d had the lawyer—Spiderman’s _dear_ friend Daredevil—the masked vigilante would have appeared, ready and willing to do anything to save his friend.

Anything, including giving up some of his blood. And that—that _girl_ , and her assertion that Spiderman needed a holiday—who did she think she was?

Better question—who _was_ she? He had files on every single one of those little bastards that ran the streets like they owned them, he had files on every single one of Xavier’s “pet projects,” and had files on everything that Runaways Unite had every caught sight of—but _she_ was nowhere in the files. Like she’d just suddenly appeared.

And she’d _mocked_ him!

“ _We should kill her.”_

Norman frowned at the whispered voice, rationality beginning to surface again. No, he couldn't kill her. Not yet; that wasn’t how Norman Osborn created his empire. He didn’t _kill_ his enemies; he tore them apart piece by piece. He destroyed their reputations, their hopes and dreams, and then, when what was left of them limped away, if they died, well—no one cared. So far he’d only met two adversaries he couldn't use those tactics on.

“ _Get the mercenary.”_

No. Approaching Deadpool at anything less than full, overwhelming strength was suicide. More importantly, should news of what he was doing get out, stocks would go down. Just look at what was happening over at Stark Industries, where the madman was dancing through the halls almost every day. Their stocks still hadn’t recovered, and Stark was a national hero.

There was a tentative knock on his office door and the young man assigned to be his assistant called through the wood, “Mr. Osborn? It’s time for your two o’clock.”

_That_ assistant had been a rare find; competent, incurious, and terrified of Norman. Norman wasn’t entirely certain _why_ the assistant was frightened of him—and he didn’t care. That fear kept the young man out of the office, out of Norman’s private lab, and out of the way.

He quickly shed his armor, straightened his suit (a few wrinkles gave the impression he’d been working hard and quickly), and went to his two o’clock meeting.

The man he was meeting looked innocuous. Older, starting to bald, in a three piece suit and tie, just like Norman. However, the carefully trained eye could see the whipcord muscle under the suit, the perfect balance with every movement, and could sense danger hidden, like a dagger in a sheath. The man looked up from a lunch spread from one of the current cooks, and smiled. “I must say,” the man said pleasantly, “that you certainly feed your staff better than my boss.”

“Workers that are well fed work better, harder, and tend to be happier and more productive,” Norman explained as he took a seat in front of the man. He smiled thinly. One of the first things he’d learned as a child was that a full, content stomach made for a poor bargainer.

“I can certainly believe that.” The man was silent for a moment as he ate a little more of the food, chewing and swallowing deliberately before speaking again. “My boss would like to know how your project is going.”

“None of my scientists can develop what your boss wants,” Norman said bluntly. “But,” he added quickly, “they’re in the process of working on something that could be better, for your purposes.”

The man nodded and swallowed another bite of food. “Good to know,” he said cheerfully. “But I was really talking about your other project.”

Ah, yes. _That_ one. “I have time.”

“I hear,” the man said slowly as he twirled some clear noodles onto a fork, “that your primary target has vanished. Do you think he’s gone?”

Norman snorted. “Or has a cold. It’s only been two days.”

“True.” The man quietly ate the noodles and smiled. “Excellent food. I’ll have to give my boss your report.” The man smiled.

“Here at Oscorp, we try to make our customers happy,” said Norman pleasantly as both he and the man stood up. It did not escape Norman’s notice that most of the food was still on the platter.

“Good to hear,” the other man said just as pleasantly before leaving.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a challenge from the Bugle.

“Peter, Jamison wants you in his office,” Beth announced as Peter arrived at the Bugle.

Peter paused. The last time Jamison wanted him in the office he introduced Peter to the guy who (for who-knows- _what_ -reason) wanted Peter’s job. “Did he say why?” he asked timidly.

Beth rolled her eyes behind her brightly painted eyelids. “ _I_ don’t know.”

Peter ducked his head, face burning. Talking to Beth was  _hard_ . “ O—okay,” he stammered.

She rolled her eyes as he made his way to Jamison’s office.  He knocked to announce himself before opening the door, his spider sense tingling at a low level. When he opens the door and sees Eddie there, he understands. “Y—you wa—wanted to s—see me?” asked Peter nervously. His glasses began to slide down so he pushed them up with the heel of his hand.

“Parker, get in here. don’t make me stress myself. And close that door; this is a private conversation.” Timidly, Peter did as he was told and the other man turned to glare at him as he stood near the desk. “Eddie,” said Jamison as he crunched the candy, “seems to be under the impression that we’re a competition.”

Peter mastered the urge to snort derisively. He didn’t need Eddie hating him more than the other man already did. He wondered what he’d ever done to Eddie to warrant the animosity. He tried not to make enemies as Peter Parker; he made more than enough as Spiderman.

“So, I thought; let’s _have_ a competition. There are gangs all over this city; bring something on one of them that I can sell.”

On one of the gangs? That would put a target on his back, on the backs of everyone in his life—not that there were many, and Harry and MJ had all the protection that money could buy—but not everyone did. He opened his mouth to protest.

Jamison, who probably knew more about his employees than most of his staff guessed, waved the objection away. “It will be anonymous,” he said firmly. “Your identities will be protected by the paper.”

Eddie sneered. “I need no ‘protection’,” he said before turning to leave.

Peter turned back to Jamison. “Um,” he said nervously.

Jamison shrugged. “He has no friends or family to put in danger, and he’s an MMA champion,” the older man said. Then he snorted. “ _And_ he assumes he’ll win. Since the masked menace is off the street, I expect you to devote your energy to this, Parker.”

“Ye—yes sir.”

“And Parker?”

“The printer’s clogged again,” Peter supplied wearily before leaving the office.

Beth looked up. “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “Eddie just strut through here  saying that he’ll have your job.”

Peter laughed nervously. “It—it’s too soon to tell,” he said before heading back to fix the printer.

Getting information on the gangs of New Amsterdam was a risky business. Even Spiderman would have trouble—and Spiderman was, for the moment, on hiatus. First and foremost, he didn’t want any of them tracking him home. A lot harder to do when he couldn't web himself across the city.

Then again—he  _could_ focus on the Snipers. The police didn’t see them as one of the more threatening gangs in the city (if the street children weren’t counted they had a low kill count outside of territory disputes), but  _Peter_ knew better. He knew the gang was borderline cult, and— on top of all of that—they hunted the street kids.  If he  _could_ get something on them, something Jamison would print—he might be able to get the police interested in the gang. At least enough to take the pressure off the street kids.

T he thoughts occupied his mind until Wade swept him up in a hug. “Petey-Pie!”

Peter grinned. “Wade!” he said happily. He started to snuggle back—until he realized he was still wearing the over-alls. “I’ll stain your suit!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!”

“What?”

Wade made a dismissive gesture. “ Not important. Don’t let stains come between cuddles! Cuddle time is important!”

Peter chuckled and rubbed his face in Wade’s chest. “You’re so strange,” he said fondly.

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound like an insult.” Peter looked up to see Wade staring at him, smiling through the mask (how did he make the mask so emotive?).

“It’s a compliment,” Peter said firmly. “How was patrol?”

Wade squealed with excitement. “Oh, Petey-Pie, you  _won’t_ believe what happened!” A pause. “Of course he will; we’re the ones telling him. No he wouldn't! No,  _you_ are!”

Peter let the soothing noise wash over him before he pulled away. “Let me change back into my clothes,” he suggested, “and on the way home you can tell me about it. And  _I’m_ making dinner tonight,” he added firmly. He’d gotten a foolproof recipe from a foodie blog in preparation.

“We’re going home together?” asked Wade.

Peter flushed. He hadn’t thought—he’d just assumed. “I—if you wa—want to,” he stammered shyly.

“Oh, Baby Boy, of _course_ I want to!” gushed Wade stemming Peter’s insecurity. “And, while we’re waiting, what did _you_ do today?”

“I fixed the printer again,” Peter offered softly. He quickly ducked into a corner and pulled off the cover-alls before putting his pants on. “Before that Jamison said that Eddie and I are competing? He wants me to get a story about gangs.”

“Oh, Petey-Pie, that’s a dangerous road to walk.”

Despite the fact that Wade was merely voicing Peter’s earlier fears, Peter felt his resolve harden. “ I can handle it,” he said firmly as he went back out to see Wade.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed.” Wade’s gloved finger tapped his nose. “Boop!”

“Wade!” Peter felt his nose wrinkle at the tiny assault, but smiled anyway. “I just need to clock out.”

“Oh, cuddles!” Wade grabbed Peter and tucked him in close. “Can you walk like this?”

“Um, yes?”

“Then onward, Intrepid Reporter!”

“I’m just a _photographer_ Wade,” complained Peter as they made their way into the office.

Wade snorted. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” said firmly. One of his swords dinged a hanging light as they made their way across. “Those things are dangerous,” he announced.

“Then maybe,” said Beth tartly from her post, eyes flashing, “you should put them away.” Wade turned to look at Beth, body very still. Beth glared back at him, unconcerned. 

Beth had dealt with police who tried to badger the paper into giving up its sources, armed thugs who tried to force the paper to print what  _they_ wanted,  terrorists who planned to blow up the Bugle and all its content, and people who wanted the Bugle to pay “protection” fees. She wasn’t frightened of a random man in a mask—particularly not one currently plastered to the back of the office nerd. 

Who had  _never_ , as either Spiderman or Peter Parker, asked Deadpool to take off the swords.

“I like you,” Wade suddenly decided. “You have _sass_ girlfriend!”

Beth’s only comment was to snort. “I’d better,” she said cryptically. “And Peter?”

“Yes?” asked Peter nervously.

“You’d better kick Eddie’s ass.”

“I—I’ll try.”

As they were walking to Peter’s apartment building, he was stopped by one of the street kids. “Mr. Parker, are the two of you dating?” asked the kid.

“Maybe?” asked Peter. What actually constituted “dating”? Going out—well, they did that a lot (especially as Spiderman and Deadpool), and had for a long time. They ate together all the time. Peter was even planning on cooking that night. They liked spending time with each other in _and_ out of the masks—even if Wade still didn’t know that Peter was Spiderman and would probably freak out (and maybe hate him) about it. Peter looked up at Wade. “Are we dating?”

Wade froze. He was absolutely still—Peter couldn't even hear him breathing. Suddenly his breath rushed out. “Do you—want to be?” he asked hesitantly.

Peter smiled at him. “I—I’d like to,” he said softly.

“Ugh. Get a room.” The street kid rolled its eyes at them—but was still grinning as it slipped into an alley.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade sets out bait to meet the new person in town.

[This is stupid.]

{It’s a great plan!}

[And we  _just_ ate!]

{But—we need to know!}

[We already know!]

“Quiet idiots!” muttered Wade as he laid out the takeout bag on the edge of the roof. He opened and closed a few times to get the mouth-watering smell to circulate. “She won’t come if you’re loud.”

[ _She_ can’t hear us. Idiot.]

“Be nice, White,” said a voice behind him. Deadpool whirled and saw the strange girl with wings standing behind him, sniffing the air delicately. “Is that—are those chimichangas?” she asked. Her wings rustled as she leaned forward, but she didn’t step away from her spot.

Wade grinned. His plan was working! “They are,” he agreed.

She edged a little closer, eyeing him and not the bag. “Is this bait?” she asked.  She didn’t sound upset—merely curios.

“Yup,” admitted Wade shamelessly. “I wanted to talk to you again.”

“Kay.” She effortlessly sat on the edge of the building, opened the bag, and grabbed a paper wrapped snack. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked as she unwrapped it and took a small bite. “Oh, these are so good!”

“Aren’t they? Maria makes the best chimichangas in the city!”

“Mmm,” agreed the girl shoveling in another bite of the hot food. She chewed and swallowed before fishing another one out of the bag and handing it towards him. “You eating?” she asked.

“Ah—no. Don’t want to put you off your appetite,” Wade said gently.

The girl sighed, reached behind her with a surprisingly limber arm, and pulled something out of the bag with her hand. Still eating she pulled the sketchbook out, flipped it open with one hand, and then showed him a picture. “Like that, right?” she asked as she chewed.

The sketch showed him, in all his scarred glory, eating pancakes. It was shocking—it was impossible—

—it verified his theory. “No,” he said absently as he took the book and stared at the pictures. “I got those for you.”

“Thanks.”

{Holy shit! She made  _us_ look good!}

“Thanks Yellow.”

Wade paused. Then turned to look at her. “You can—hear the boxes?” he asked hesitantly.

She swallowed her current bite. “No, but you twitch different depending on which one’s speaking and if they’re being assholes,” she said. She unwrapped the second and began to eat it.

“I was thinking,” Wade said as he went back to the book. “Thinking about what you said about not being from around here, with your accent. And I thought to myself, Wade, there’s a _whole_ multiverse out there, and I bet she came from one of them.”

She snorted. “I love how that’s not actually a question.  The answer’s yes, by the by.” She took another bite.

Wade turned the page and stared at picture of Peter. Not  _his_ Petey-Pie—but just similar and just different enough that he found it a little creepy.  He closed the book and looked at the girl sitting on the edge of the roof, swinging her feet as she ate her food. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously.

She looked up, her hands clenched on the food making its innards squish all over them and she snarled, “I’m on the RPG quest from Hel!” She looked down at her hands and sighed. “Man,” she moaned as she licked the food off them. “I was trying to stay clean.”

“Ponyo!” A pink slime thing popped out from the bag on her back and glooped down to her lap.

“That’s slightly freaky,” Wade announced as he watched the thing eating the bits of grease on the pink leotard.

“Yeah, don’t get too close. Dora exhales cyanide gas—in low amounts, but too close will make you pass out.” One hand drifted towards the slime which reached out a tentacle to wrap around the finger.

“So—Dora is like your personal cleaning squad?” asked Wade, puzzled.

“And friend. And ESA. And proof of identity.” The girl snorted. “I could stand in a field of people like me and Dora would always know which one was me.”

“That come up often?”

“Surprisingly no.” The girl continued eating.

[Why surprisingly?]

{I can’t believe you’re hung up on that when  _she knows when we’re talking_ !}

“Nice to see you too, Yellow,” said the girl calmly.

{See? How does she know?}

Wade frowned. “Good question; how  _do_ you know?”

She took the sketchbook back and shoved it into her bag. “You raised me,” she said after swallowing. “You and Peter.”

[Impossible.]

{How did she not  _die_ ?}

[It would have to be mostly Peter.]

“How?”

She swallowed the last chimichanga, neatly put the wrappers back in the bag before crumpling it and expertly tossing it into the dumpster in the alley below them. “I was made in a lab,” she explained.

Wade gripped the side of the roof.

She nodded. “Just as bad as you’re thinking. And, before you ask, you killed the bitch.” She smiled.

{I don’t want to know how bad it was.}

[We already do.]

“We got rescued, and I was put into your and Peter’s custody.”

“We’re _MARRIED_?!” They had just agreed to start dating right before dinner!

She merely nodded. “Oh, yeah,” she said firmly. “And you wouldn't  _believe_ in how different dimensions? Multiverses? Worlds? One of those. Anyway, the two of you are together in a lot of them.” She licked grease off her fingers. 

“And—we— _raised_ you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Suddenly she snickered. “You should have heard Tony yelling the first time you took me to Sister Margaret’s. I could hear down the hall and in the cafeteria.”

[Told you it was mostly Peter.]

“And you’re the first person to guess where I’m from.” She calmly set her hands in her lap and the slime slid over them. “Maybe that’s due to the—alternate view? Wall breaking? I forget how you explained it.” The slime slid up her chest and back into the bag on her back as she watched its path of travel fondly.

[Why were you put into our care?]

Wade thought that was a good question, so he repeated it.

She hefted the wing that the bad guy earlier had blown up. “In case you haven’t noticed,” she said dryly, “I have a pretty good healing factor. Not come back from the dead good,” she quickly added, “but I’ve learned how to protect my core so that I’m not in danger of actually dying.” She quickly leaped up, standing on the ledge of the roof. “Anything else?”

{Ask her how long we were married!}

“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.

“I have a—safe place to rest,” she said. “But I can’t do that too long. I’ve got to find the person I’m looking for, and I’m on a timer to do it.”

Wade heard an echo in her voice, an echo of Spiderman’s determination. He’d seen Webs go after a criminal with a broken leg. Spidey’s broken leg, that is. “Don’t forget you still need to rest,” Wade warned. “No matter how fast you heal, you’re going to need time to rest and recover.” He expected her to get mad, to tell him that he had no idea what she needed to do and that he needed to stay out of her way. It’s what he would have said, in her place.

She grinned. “I told you I found a safe place, didn’t I?” she asked cheekily before jumping off the roof.

[I can definitely see where  _we_ contributed.]

{You think she’s got boxes too?}

[Shut up, Yellow.]


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets some visitors at work at Stark Industries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: this chapter is dark. Think about sweet puppies and kitties and maybe flerken. :)

Peter put the slime in a clear acrylic box before piping music into it. Maybe, if he adjusted the formula just a little bit, it could reconstitute after exploding. Maybe it could be made into some kind of new, flashy speaker. Something like a lava lamp, but better.

He needed to do something to take his mind off his conversation with Wade the night before. They were dating?! And _Peter_ was the one who asked if they could! He couldn't believe he’d been so bold—but Wade had said yes.

And Peter had utterly destroyed the dinner he’d set out to cook, so they’d had to order food. He hadn’t even known that meatballs _could_ explode. At least Wade was entertained. The other man had laughed so hard he’d almost retched into his mask. So—a maybe win?

“Peter, what is that?” asked Dr. Stacey as she peered over his shoulder.

“Slime. It always explodes when the beat gets too fast, so I’m trying to make it pull itself back together.”

“Huh.” They watched as it vibrated quickly. “Is that what got me the other day?”

Peter ducked his head nervously. “It’s easy to clean.”

The slime in the box exploded, dripping down the ceiling and the sides. “Why don’t you try making it so that it doesn’t explode in the first place?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because then it wouldn't be water soluble,” Peter explained.

“Huh.” He turned to see Dr. Stacey staring at the cube. “By the way, security let me know that you have visitors.”

“Wade?” Peter was confused. Usually Wade arrived at the entrance to the lab with security behind looking confused. He’d never known Wade to actually wait—anywhere, come to think of it.

“As long as he’s not getting blood in my lab, I don’t care.”

That sounded— _really_ specific, and wasn’t a story Peter had heard before. Should he ask? Was it socially acceptable to ask? Was it better to pretend he hadn’t heard the comment?

“And your visitor is still waiting.” She sounded slightly upset.

“Right! Thanks, Dr. Stacey!” Peter hung his lab coat up and went to flee the lab.

“They’re in the first floor cafeteria!” Dr. Stacey called to him as he left.

He nodded briefly before heading to the elevator. He kept expecting his new ID not to work, or for the alarm to sound trumpeting that he was an intruder, or something like that. He was still surprised every time his ID worked.

The first floor cafeteria was where the general public could waltz in, gawk at the Tower, get something to eat, and then waltz back out again. It didn’t make sense for Wade, who always burst in on Peter while he was working, to politely inform security to ask for Peter. Not the least because, although he was usually manic and over-the-top with a Devil-may-care attitude, Wade was not fond of being in with the general public.

At no point during his conversation with Dr. Stacey did it occur to him that it might not be Wade waiting for him. Despite the fact that she’d said visitor _s_ and mentioned “them,” he thought he knew who would be there, in the cafeteria. He was surprised.

Pleasantly, though. He couldn't imagine what had brought them to the Tower, but he was always happy to see his friends. “Harry! MJ!” Peter called as he made his way over to the table they were sitting at. He wasn’t surprised that the table was getting covert glances from other employees. After all, Harry was the heir apparent to Oscorp. They smiled back at him while he took a seat at the table—which was laden with food from the cafeteria.

“Peter!” greeted Harry. He was paler than normal, and stayed in his seat. He was clearly having a bad day.

MJ jumped up and hugged him. “Hey,” she said fondly before ruffling his hair like the little brother she’d always seen him as.

“Hey,” said Peter shyly. He looked at Harry. “What brings the two of you here?”

“We heard about your semi-promotion,” Harry said. “Thought we’d come, congratulate you, and feed you lunch while we’re here.”

“So, have you made anything exciting?” asked MJ as she pushed some of the food towards Peter.

Peter absently ate as he explained about the slime. He didn’t talk about Dr. Stacey’s project, because he was pretty sure that was confidential information, but his slime was no such thing. He didn’t get into the technical terms of what he was doing, but explained the general broad strokes.

By the time he was finished the curiosity had worn off and their table was no longer under scrutiny. “What brings you two here?” he asked quietly.

Harry smiled. “You think we can’t just want to help you celebrate your promotion?” he teased. At Peter’s pointed look he sighed. “You’re right. We have news.” He reached over the table to grab MJ’s hand. “We’re going to be going to Paris.” He smiled at her before meeting Peter’s eyes with determination. “Permanently,” he added.

Permanently? Permanently meant— “Harry,” Peter started.

MJ reached over and grabbed one of Peter’s hands, getting his attention. “Peter,” she said softly, “I’m pregnant.”

For one bright, shining moment, Peter was thrilled. She was pregnant? His two friends in love were going to have a baby? That was awesome! Excellent! Exciting!

And then ice water flooded his veins as he stared at them numbly. If Norman knew—if he found out—

They nodded. “We wanted you to be the first to know,” Harry said.

“I—I—there are no words,” Peter admitted to his friends. They got up from the table, hugged him, and then they left and Peter stumbled off. There was a place in the stairwell that was isolated from the rest of it. Peter thought that maybe it had started out as being an entrance to a floor, but the idea was scrapped for some reason.

If Harry was going to Paris, he wouldn't be in range of his father’s phone. He wouldn't be able to receive the ten digit code that was keeping him alive. He would die. Harry would die.

Harry would die, so that his child would have a chance to live in peace without Norman breathing down its neck.

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Peter looked up and saw Wade, in full Deadpool costume, standing in front of him. He quickly sat down next to Peter and reached out to touch the smaller man’s back. “You okay?” he asked.

No. Nothing was okay. Peter wasn’t certain if anything would be okay again. He flung himself into Wade’s chest and just sobbed. All the tears he’d held back for years. Wade simply wrapped his arms around Peter, and let him cry.

When the sobs finally trailed off he found himself mostly in Wade’s lap, and not minding a bit. “What happened?” asked Wade. “Who do I need to kill?”

“It’s not something that can be fixed by killing someone,” Peter said softly, his voice scratchy from crying so hard.

“You don’t know that.”

“My best friend is going to die.” The statement came out flat, unemotional, almost like Peter didn’t care—but he did care. He only had two friends; Harry and MJ, and Harry was going to die. “And he’s going to die because his father’s a lying, manipulative, son-of-a-bitch who should have been drowned at birth!” snarled Peter.

“Okay. How?”

For the first time, since the beginning, Peter began to tell the story. “Harry was born with a weak heart,” Peter said softly. “We all knew it was a matter of time. Then, then Norman—Norman said he had an idea. It was experimental, and it might not work, but it was a product that his company was producing. So he put Harry under anesthesia and operated to give him this shiny new, experimental heart. That’s what he _told_ us, after the fact.”

“So, he got a doctor to work on his kid?” hazarded Wade.

Peter chuckled darkly. “I don’t think there was a real doctor with him,” he said grimly. “See, the fake heart has a fatal flaw—if Norman doesn’t send the right ten-digit code after a certain amount of time—it stops working. Harry starts to die. It’s almost happened a few times,” Peter admitted thinking of the last time, of watching Norman casually pour himself a drink as his son gasped in pain after his heart almost stopped.

“Whoa.” Wade was silent for a moment as his hand made soothing circles on Peter’s back. “That’s why you didn’t want your own lab?” he hazarded.

Peter was slightly surprised that Wade knew about it. He didn’t think that would be the kind of thing that Deadpool would be interested in. “If Norman ordered me to use my position to sabotage something, I’d do it,” Peter said firmly, “to protect Harry.”

Wade was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’m not normally an advocate of this sort of thing, but why didn’t you tell someone?”

“What good would that do?” asked Peter wearily.

“Well you—might be able to get help?” Wade sounded uncertain, unsure.

“There are only four people who know what happened to Harry. That would be Norman, Harry, MJ, and me. MJ is an actress with a budding fashion line. She has absolutely no scientific background, the lowest scores in science that was possible while still managing to graduate high school, and is known for being a little bit of drama queen. If she says anything, everyone will assume she’s making it up for attention.”

Peter paused, debating how to phrase the next part. “Then, there’s Harry. And Harry—isn’t much better. The only reason he passed high school at all was because I was tutoring him. Again, no scientific background and I seriously doubt there’s proof.

“Then there’s me. I have a scientific background, I have enough medical knowledge that I can prove what I know—but I work for Stark, Norman’s biggest competitor. If _I_ say anything, Norman will just play the wounded bird, claim that I’ve been brainwashed by Stark, and do everything in his power to make Stark look like a rampaging egomaniac who desperately needs to have someone controlling him so that he doesn’t destroy the world.” Peter spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing any of us can do. And Harry’s about to go overseas, to go and live in a country that Norman has no intention of ever visiting while he waits to die.”

Wade hugged him closer as more tears leaked down his face. “Don’t you worry Petey-Pie, I know someone to talk to.” Peter looked at him in disbelief, and Wade chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s not Stark.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool asks for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warning for violence and angry!Peter in this one.

“So, Stark, two questions,” Wade said as he peered into Tony’s lab. Whatever the man was working on suddenly fell to the ground.

“Damn it!” swore Stark. “I almost had that reverse propulsion working.” He turned to Wade. “What two questions?” he asked warily.

[ Is that thing supposed to be floating now?]

{Who cares? Petey needs us!}

Wade tore his eyes away from the thing climbing back into the air to look at Stark again. “So—about that thing you hired me for. If I find out why, but you can’t fix and would, we all agree, make it worse, but I know someone who  _might_ be able to fix it, do I still get paid?”

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

{Oh! Oh! Hangover or just headache?}

[Who gives a shit?]

“Can this be fixed so the kid accepts his own lab?” asked Tony.

Wade was silent for a moment. “Maybe?”

Tony released his nose, picked up a tool, and said, “If it results in Peter accepting his own lab here, then yes. You still get paid, even if I didn’t do it.”

“Great!”

Pepper stepped into the lab. “Tony, you’ve got to do something about this supply list. According to the experiments our scientists are doing, we shouldn't be losing some of this—oof!” she grunted as  Wade picked her up. “Deadpool, put me down!” she growled angrily as she smacked his back (between his katanas) and kicked her pointed heels in the air.

“Justborrowingyouforaquickmoment seeyaStark, bye!”

“THAT WASN’T A QUESTION DEADPOOL!” roared Stark.

“Hey, easy now!” Wade said warily as he dodged a shot to his head. Not that it would hurt him for too long—but he might drop her and she _certainly_ wouldn't be willing to help him if he hurt her!

[Do you honestly think she’s going to help  _now_ , Dumbass?]

{I thought we already learned that kidnapping is not the way to start a relationship?}

[We don’t want a relationship with the Iron Dick’s love interest!]

{Of course not! All our affection is for Sweetie Petey!}

“I’m not kidnapping her!” Wade protested.

“Sure looks like it to me!” snarled Pepper.

“No!” Wade set her down (gently). “I just wanted to talk to you in a place Stark couldn’t hear us!”

She stared at him for a moment. “JARVIS,” she said quietly, “initialize  protocol NE2.” The lights in the room they were in went down leaving them bathed in the dark red of emergency lights. “You have fifteen minutes before Tony notices this section of the Tower went dark,” Pepper said firmly. “Go.”

“Norman Osborn is an evil jackass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Peter’s story tumbled out of Wade’s mouth as he remembered the way the poor guy’s face had just—just crumpled before he threw himself into Wade’s arms.

[Don’t you find that just a little strange? That he’s comfortable enough to  _cry_ on us?]

{Shut up, we’re dating now!}

Wade’s attention was caught by Pepper nervously biting her index finger. “He’s not wrong,” she admitted. “It’s a political nightmare. I’m glad you didn’t want to talk to Tony about this,” she added. “He’d try to barge in, guns blazing, and we’d all end up arrested and Stark Industries would be cut to the ground.”

“Is there anything you can do?” asked Wade anxiously. He really wanted to help Peter—but this wasn’t a problem he could solve. 

Pepper’s teeth worried at the scarred skin of her knuckle for a moment. “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to talk to several people and find out just what Osborn did.”

“So—you’ll look into it?” asked Wade anxiously. 

“Yes. And not a _word_ to Tony.”

“Not a one.” The lights came back up in the room just as something hit Wade in the back, sending him flying.

{That jackass! He broke our spine  _again_ !}

“Tony, I’m _fine_. Deadpool just had a personal problem, and doesn’t know how to ask like an adult.”

Rude—but sort of true. It wasn’t  _Wade’s_ problem; it was Peter’s.

[And we  _are_ immature.]

{Let’s go bother Weasel! We haven’t seen him for ages!}

“True,” muttered Wade, “but we need to talk to Peter first.”

{Let’s take Peter with us!}

[No.]

“Peter shouldn't be anywhere near that hellhole,” Wade muttered.

“Right. Out you go.” Stark picked him up and tossed him out a window.

“Rude!” yelled Wade as he tumbled down.

He stood on a hill crested with flowers as the beautiful skeleton looked at him bemusedly. “You need to be more careful,” she told him.

“Ah, Sweet Lady Death,” said Wade as he got to one knee in front of her. “How could you say that?”

She merely chuckled. “The people around you aren’t  as invincible as you are,” she warned. “And they shouldn't see me before their time.”

The world around him began to darken and haze as he pouted. “You’re talking about people other than me!” he protested.

“And you’ll be glad of it.”

Wade opened his eyes as his legs and spine were twisting back into normal shape. “Ow,” he said after some consideration.

[Iron Man is such a  _dick_ . He didn’t have to throw us out the window!]

{We should figure out where he keeps his boots and fill them with dog shit!}

[Jerk.]

{Jackass!}

“Tacos,” grunted Wade as he pushed himself up.

“Wade?” He looked up to see his favorite person ever.

[What about Spiderman?]

One of his two favorite people ever. “Petey-Pie!” Wade said as Peter rushed over to him.

“What happened?” demanded Peter as he braced up Wade’s side.

“Nothing much. Tin Dick threw me out a window.”

“Mr. Stark did _what_?”

[He sounds so appalled. I love this kid.]

Wade waved dismissively. “It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, Baby Boy,” he said cheerfully. “I heal, you know.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” shouted Peter.

“It _is_ okay!” Wade protested. He wasn’t sure why they were shouting. “I heal!”

“It still _hurts_ , doesn’t it?” demanded Peter.

“Of fucking course it hurts!” Wade snarled back, not sure why he was angry.

“That means its not okay!”

[…I think he’s mad we were hurt.]

{Why? No one cares if we’re hurt.}

“And I’m going to make sure he knows it!”

What? Oh, sweet baby, no! Wade reached out and grabbed Peter before he stalked off. “You can’t do that!” he protested.

“Oh?” demanded Peter hotly (in more ways than one. “I can’t go tell my boss that he can’t throw my boyfriend out a window?”

[Down, Little Wade!]

Wade focused on several not-hot things that he’d  never want to see. “He’s your boss!” Wade protested.

Peter simply raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s not scarier than Norman.”

[He has a point.]

{Did the erection go away yet?}


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter confronts Tony.

Tony looked at the lab assistant in front of him. The boy’s eyes were narrowed behind his huge glasses, his arms were crossed over his chest, and he was  _glaring_ at Tony. Vaguely Tony wondered what happened to the stammering, meek kid who couldn't believe he  _deserved_ a lab of his own.  This confident,  _angry_ young man was nothing like him.

“All right,” Tony said leaning against his desk, arms crossed and trying not to sound defensive, “why _can’t_ I throw Deadpool out of a window?”

“Because it’s _wrong_ ,” Peter said sternly.

Tony is no stranger to confrontation. He’s fought aliens, terrorist organizations, and evil corporate backstabbers. There  _should_ , in theory, be nothing about the kid to rival those. Logically, Tony knows this.

Emotionally, he wants to stammer that he was wrong, apologize, and then run to hide in his lab until the kid stopped hating him. He wasn’t sure why. “Listen Kid,” Tony said firmly, “Deadpool can heal.”

“That,” growled Peter through clenched teeth, “is not! The! Point!” 

Actually, Tony rather thought that  _was_ the point. Deadpool was like the ultimate unkillable cockroach—people were stuck with him until they died. (Not until Deadpool died, obviously.) Everyone killed him occasionally. Hell, he’d even bet that  _Spiderman_ , paragon of virtue and justice that he tried to be, had killed Deadpool at least once. It was impossible to care; he always bounced back.

Peter looked even more enraged and Tony wondered what the boy saw on his face. His hands clenched on the fabric covering his arms as he glared. “He can still feel  _pain_ , Mr. Stark. I know you know that. Deliberately causing people pain is  _wrong_ .”

“But it’s just Deadpool!” protested Tony desperately. Part of him felt like he needed to run, to hide, to get his suit—but he didn’t know _why_. Seriously, Peter was maybe ninety-seven pounds soaking wet. “Nobody cares about Deadpool!”

“ _I_ care about him!” yelled the assistant.

Actually yelling at him. Yelling at Tony Stark, genius inventor with a multi-billion dollar international company. That he  _worked_ at. “Why?” asked Tony, morbidly curious. It couldn't just be that the kid was a good Samaritan, could it?

Peter’s face darkened in a flush. “He’s my boyfriend, and I think I’ve got a right to ask my boss not to toss my  _boyfriend_ out the window!”

Both of them ignored the cackling from the air duct above their heads. “Wait,” said Tony holding up a hand as he tried to process this new information. “You’re  _dating_ Deadpool?”

“Yes.” Absolutely no hesitation in the kid’s voice, stance, or gaze. “And his name is Wade,” Peter added.

“He’s not threatening you to date him, is he?” demanded Tony. A sound caught his attention. “Are your clothes ripping?”

“They’re old and threadbare,” Peter replied flatly. “It doesn’t take much.”

“Mr. Parker,” Pepper said getting Peter’s attention, “Tony doesn’t have any longer for you to yell at him. Peter turned his attention to the assistant and Tony felt like he was escaping—what? What possible danger could this assistant be?

“I am taking this moment to inform you, because I feel almost certain that Dr. Stacey will fail to do so, that her organic matrix is finished. Starting tomorrow, as I know you have to leave soon to get to your other job, you will be working with Dr. Banner.”

“I—yes, Ms. Potts,” Peter said humbly, reverting back to the behavior Tony expected from the young man. “Th—thank you for telling me.”

Pepper, to Tony’s shock, smiled. “Not a problem,” she said warmly. “Now, go, kick ass at your other job.” The assistant nodded and left the office. Tony sighed in relief.

“I don’t know why,” he admitted to her, “but I feel like hiding in my lab.”

Pepper snorted. “It’s called a guilty conscience,” she told him pertly.

“What?”

Pepper turned to look at him and took a stance eerily similar to the one Peter had had. “You,” she said darkly, “treat Deadpool like a disposable tissue. All the Avengers do, and Peter is right. You need to be nicer to him, you  _all_ need to be nicer to him.”

“We’re talking Deadpool, right? Bouncy, manic guy. Dresses in red and has _way_ too much fun killing people. Kidnapped you a few hours ago?” demanded Tony. “Have you spoken to the guy?”

“Yes. Have you?” demanded Pepper. “Honestly, the way you and the other Avengers treat Deadpool is abusive.”

Tony didn’t like the way the new information was making him feel. “I thought you said the yelling at me had to stop,” he said plaintively.

“No. I said _Peter_ had to stop yelling at you. He’s due at his second job time any minute now, and I wish him luck getting there on time from here. _I_ will be with you all day.”

Tony stared at his personal assistant. Whose only response was to smile sweetly back at him.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the darker chapters, readers. Be warned.

Ellie ran as fast as she could, but she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough.  How had the Snipers even noticed her? She hadn’t been panhandling, selling the tourist crap, or hitting up tourists as a guide. She’d just been walking—walking from the library to one of the entrances of their home. She hadn’t even been  _in_ Sniper territory! Everyone knew that section of the city belonged to Daredevil and that he didn’t allow gangs to work there!

She tried to make a hard turn into an alley, but stepped wrong on her foot twisting her ankle  and sending her into the brick wall. That she was picked up from and slammed against again. Then she was forced around to face her attackers. One of them was tall, almost too tall to see clearly (although that could have been her head spinning). He was wearing a dingy gray shirt and black pants with that damned red sash. The other wasn’t much taller than her, and was grinning at her with a wild, almost feral expression.

The taller one chuckled. “Looks like we found another sacrifice.”

The shorter one pinned Ellie with a hand to her throat. “Hear that?” he gloated. “Your pathetic excuse for a life will  _have_ an excuse.” His grip tightened. “As soon as you die.”

“Hold on, you know the rules,” the taller one chided and the hand loosened allowing Ellie to cough and pull air into her lungs. “He has to call for help.”

The short one rolled his eyes. “Does that really matter?” he asked. “No one ever comes.”

“It’s the rule.”

The short one shook Ellie, making her teeth rattle. “Call for help.” She blinked blearily, trying to focus. “Call.” Shake. “For.” Shake. “Help.”

“ _You could ask the big sister next to you for help.”_

She wet her lips and tried to speak. Spit foamed on her lip as she tried to push the words out. She took a deep, halting breath, and tried to scream, but a whisper sounded out. “Angel,” she whispered.

“What was that?” demanded the short one as he pulled Ellie off her feet.

Panic gave the girl the strength she needed. “Angel, please help me!”

“Angel, please help me,” mocked the taller of the two in a lilting tone. The shorter one cracked up. 

The shorter one grinned at the girl. “No one’s coming,” he told her. He drew his arm back for the first of the punches. Ellie grimaced and closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the first one land.

It never did. “And just what,” asked a mild voice, “are you trying to do to my little sister?”

Ellie’s eyes popped open and focused on the brunette behind the boy, holding his arm in a firm grip. “Angel!” she cried in relief. 

Angel smiled and waved at Ellie with her free hand. “I heard you calling,” she said. The short one dropped Ellie and then whirled to punch Angel with all his might and Angel—

—simply twisted the arm she was holding a little bit and he dropped to his knees, beads of sweat flowing down his face as his skin paled in the dim light. Ellie blinked. She wasn’t sure what had happened. It still looked like Angel was merely holding the guy’s wrist.

“You bitch!” swore the guy on the ground as he struggled. Ellie ran to Angel’s side, to get as far away from the Snipers as possible.

“Oh,” said Angel gently, “you don’t want to do that. Trust me; I learned from an expert. Too much stress and your shoulder just pops right out of joint.”

The tall one took a step back and looked at Angel, eyes raking down her body from her head, to her wings, to her feet. “Who are you?” asked the tall one. “Devin, shut up,” he ordered.

“Well,” said Angel, “I can’t tell you my real name—reasons, you know—but around here I’m called ‘Angel.’ And,” she added darkly, “I would like to know why you’re threatening my little sister.”

The tall one spread his hands in gesture of peace—or at least not threat. Ellie didn’t trust the guy any further than she could throw him, and, judging from the way that Angel covered her with a wing, Angel didn’t either. “We all know the truth of these streets. There is a demon roaming the city.”

That was ridiculous! Demons didn’t exist! Ellie looked up and stopped to stare at the intent look on Angel’s face. “Oh?” asked the older girl. “And how do you know?”

“The Great One _showed_ us its so,” said the guy, eyes glittering dangerously. Ellie unconsciously leaned closer to Angel who pressed her wing around the child. “And the only way to stop the demon is for the sacrifices to seal the city. They must obey the Rules.”

“And what are these rules?” demanded Angel.

“They must be of the street and not missed. They must be caught. They must call for help. No help must come. And they must die alone.” 

“Help came,” said Angel shortly. She released the shorter boy who threw himself back.

The taller one nodded. “It did. You should keep your sister off the streets or there might be another—mistake.”

Angel leaned forward. “The streets,” she said firmly, “are for everyone.”

“Don’t blame us when something bad happens.” The two Snipers walked away.

“Angel?” asked Ellie looking up into the uncharacteristically somber face of the older girl.

“That rhetoric,” said Angel softly, eyes grim as she stared after the two, “is disturbingly familiar.” She turned her attention to the girl next to her. “Tell everyone,” she said, “that if they need help to call Angel. If I can, I’ll come.”

Ellie nodded. It was more than they’d  _had_ .


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the Kingpin and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you might have noticed that my posting has slowed down. That's because we've got crazy storms in the area that are wreaking merry havoc with my joints. (Man I feel old.) I should pick up again as the weather clears. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Peter shifted nervously in his seat and froze at the distinctive sound of cracking knuckles. How? How did this happen? He had the freaking _Spidey_ _Sense_ for crying out loud!

His eyes darted around the strangely mundane office. Of course he  _could_ get out, with no issue—if he wasn’t afraid of revealing his other identity. He was going to have to do  _something_ ; he didn’t think they’d just let him off with a warning.

He’d been lurking in an alley, camera around his neck, hunting for something to use against the Snipers. He’d trailed the three he’d come across in silence, so completely focused on them that he hadn’t noticed someone was behind him until his sense screeched at him mere seconds before a hand landed on his shoulder. He’d been grabbed by two nameless goons who’d bundled him up into an empty van before driving him halfway across the city to haul him out behind a building (in a surprisingly good part of town) before wrestling his camera away and leading him to this office. They’d plopped him in the chair, and here he sat—waiting.

Peter would have to be an idiot not to know where he was.  There was only one person who would have goons in that territory who lived in this neighborhood. He was sitting in the home of one Wilson Fisk, also known as Kingpin.

The door to the small room opened and Peter jumped in surprise as the large man entered with unusual (at least until someone considered his past boxing career) grace. “Mr. Parker,” the man said calmly as he walked to the desk. Peter’s eyes were drawn to the large hand holding his camera—and making it look like nothing more than a large candy.

Peter swallowed. Fisk knew his name. He certainly couldn't use any Spiderman stunts now—at least as long as he wasn’t in immediate risk of dying. “Sir,” he said respectfully.

Kingpin nodded.  He set the camera on his desk, but Peter knew better than to believe that it was safe yet. “Tell me,” said the man, “what you were doing.”

It was an order. An order that could easily get him in trouble—but there was no reason not to answer it. He was in trouble either way. “I was following the Snipers,” he confessed. The large, heavy-set man in front of him snapped his gaze up, focused on Peter. Who swallowed hard. “Sir,” he added.

“Why?”

“I want to get the police interested in them.”

One thick, sausage like finger, tapped the desk next to the camera. Peter tried not to wince every time it came down—if he tapped the camera like that he’d destroy the thing and Peter didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. “The area you were caught in,” Kingpin said, eyeing Peter with his ice blue eyes, “ happens to be one that my—associates were paid to protect. So they brought you here.” The finger stilled. “Do you know why you’re still alive?” he asked darkly.

“No,” squeaked Peter nervously.

“You are still alive for two reasons. One; there is not one single shot of one of my people on this camera.”

Of course not. Peter hadn’t been looking for  _Kingpin_ , after all.

“And two, I personally feel that the Snipers are religious fanatics. I don’t approve of their vendetta against New Amsterdam’s street children.”

“Sometimes,” a husky voice behind Peter confided, “the Boss will give us plates of food to leave out.”

“I look at those children and look at my son…” Fisk shook his head. “There is a third reason.” When Peter didn’t respond, not sure of what to make of these revelations. Wilson Fisk, feared crime lord—had a soft spot for the street children? “My anniversary is coming up and I want to do something—special. Something not everyone does. And I want you to take pictures of it.”

Peter stared, eyes going wide behind his glasses. “Me?” he asked, incredulous. Why him?

“I’ve seen the pictures you take of Spiderman. The Bugle aside,” added the large man with a slight frown, “the pictures are well done. Why do you sell them to the Bugle?”

Peter risked shoving his glasses up with his wrist. “They pay me,” he said shortly.

There was an odd, crackling noise coming from the large man in front of him.  After a moment of stunned silence Peter realized he was laughing. “That,” said the large man, physically composing himself, “is priceless. And true; the Bugle does pay.” Peter nodded nervously.

Those piercing eyes focused on Peter once again. “Now,” he said firmly, “I can’t let you go stalking the Snipers. They’re paying me for protection and it would be bad business. However,” he said holding up his sausage-like finger, “ I can offer something else. How would you feel if I told you where to find proof of Runaways Unite’s dark secrets?”

Peter had known, from the first day they’d shown up in New Amsterdam, that Runaways Unite was up to no good. He’d done his best to protect the street children from them, even as the citizens of the city proclaimed the non-profit as a heroes for “taking care of the children.” To be able to  _prove_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt—something that could show just how horrible they were—priceless.

The Kingpin nodded. “Ah. I thought you might prefer that, given your association with the street children.”

The door to the room opened again and a woman, tall (but shorter) than Kingpin, with silver streaked black hair walked in. She looked around the room and frowned before turning to Wilson. “You promised you weren’t going to bring work home,” she told him tightly.

“This isn’t work, Vanessa,” protested the large man.

Peter quickly stood up and held out his hand. “He—hello,” he stammered. “I—I’m Pe—Peter Parker.”

She looked at him. “Sing,” she ordered. When he blinked in confusion she continued, “It is physically impossible to sing and stammer at the same time. Sing.”

A little nervously, Peter complied. “Your husband is hiring me to take pictures,” he sang. It worked! He was going to have to remember that and weigh the benefits of being thought insane over being thought a loser.

“Pictures?”

Kingpin shifted nervously in his seat. “Our anniversary is coming up,” he reminded her.

Her face softened and she went over to him to kiss him on the cheek. “You big softy,” she said sweetly.

“Yes. Parker, I’ll contact you with the details,” Fisk said firmly glaring at the boy. Peter nodded, scooped his camera off the desk, and fled.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time.

“Runaways Unite?” asked Wade as Peter fixed them both coffee. The boy may have had trouble cooking, but no one brewed a better pot of coffee. “What about those nut-jobs?” Wade asked warily as Peter sat next to him on the couch, handing him a cup. 

T he two of them were in Peter’s apartment (Wade’s was not fit for company by any stretch of the imagination). Wade had caught up with Peter as he was headed home—from an odd direction that was n ot from the Bugle, Stark Industries, or Oscorp. Peter had begun by telling him about telling off his boss—

{Which is hot.}

[ _Not_ the point! He could have gotten  _fired_ !]

{…Stark’s paying us an insane amount to make sure Petey accepts his own lab. Why would he fire him just for having a backbone?}

[…My God. You have a point.]

—then his tracking of a couple of Snipers—

[We’ve got to make sure he knows that’s not okay. Those people are dangerous.]

{Maybe  _we_ should follow him? Make sure he’s safe anyway?}

—and his meeting with Kingpin.

[Definitely dangerous—but the man is a businessman first.]

{Who  _hired_ Peter!}

Peter curled up next to Wade, pressing their sides together. With his eyes heavy like this, curled like this, he reminded Wade of a satisfied cat. “Kingpin says he knows something I can use to take them down,” Peter said with satisfaction. 

Wade sat silently, blowing on his coffee to cool it down for a moment. The room was dim, out of deference to Wade’s own preferences, and was only lit by a single small lamp—that was on the other side of the room. The two of them were sitting in shadow.

{Perfect for making out in.}

[Uh—no. We don’t want him feeling our skin and running away at the strange texture.]

“Why do you want to take them down so badly?” asked Wade, curiously.

Peter sighed as he set his cup down on the coffee table in front of them. “Because of the street kids they’re taking,” he said as he curled back up next to Wade and rested his head on the broader man’s shoulder.

Cautiously, ready to pull back if Peter made any move to indicate the touch wasn’t welcome, Wade put an arm around him. “What about them?” he asked, keeping most of his weight to himself, barely resting it on Peter. Sure they were dating. Sure Peter seemed extra cuddly tonight—but that didn’t necessarily mean it would be okay. He had to go slow.

{Coward!}

[Seriously. You drape yourself all over him in public—why are you nervous about putting your arm around him now?]

Because in public he still had a mask to hide behind. Here, behind closed doors, in the comforting shadows where it was just the two of them, he felt as though he were unmasked—which, agreed, was a stupid feeling since he was still covered head to toe in his leather/Kevlar suit.

[It really is stupid.]

“No one knows where they go,” Peter said answering the question. “They’re not put into the system, they don’t get taken back home, Runaways Unite has nothing like an orphanage—so where do they go?” Peter sighed and pressed harder against Wade’s side. “Plus,” he added wearily, “Norman donated almost a million dollars to them.”

“Stark donated a hundred thousand,” Wade felt obligated to point out.

Peter sighed. “Tony Stark,” he said firmly, “has a computer program that donates one hundred thousand dollars to every non-profit in the county.” Peter began lightly drawing on Wade’s suit with his finger. Despite him not pressing hard, Wade could feel every stroke. “I  _could_ hack into the program and make it stop donating to Runaways Unite—but that would mean admitting I know about the program and I’m capable.”

[Earth to Idiot. Peter is flirting.]

{Let’s kiss him!}

[Sure. Let’s kiss our super hot boyfriend who likes us enough to confront his  _boss_ and let him feel the horrorscape that is our face  so he can run away from us. Brilliant idea.]

{What do we do?}

[We make excuses like the cowards we are and run home hoping he still wants to talk to us in the morning.]

Wade did not. He stayed perfectly still. Peter? Flirting? It didn’t seem possible. Wade gently wiggled his shoulder to get Peter’s attention. “Want to watch a movie?” he asked.

[You  _idiot_ . You’re going to regret this in the morning.]

Peter gave him a lazy smile. “Sure,” he said amiable before rising from the couch and ambling over to a pile of DVDs on the floor beneath the TV. (Not a great TV; Peter’s apartment could use a few more—touches.)

{ _Peter_ could use a few more touches.}

[He does have a cute ass.]

“He does indeed.”

“I do what?” asked Peter absently.

Wade froze. Had he ever told Peter about the boxes? He—he couldn't remember. If he hadn’t—would Peter run? But—but Peter was waiting for an answer, half-turned and watching with those half-lidded eyes. Wade swallowed hard. “The boxes in my head,” he said softly. “They—they think you’re cute.”

Peter stood straight and turned completely to face Wade. “Your boxes think I’m cute?” he asked. He sounded flattered. 

“Oh, Baby Boy, you are the cutest thing ever! Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Peter made a habitual movement to push the glasses he wasn’t currently wearing up with his wrist. “No,” he said, his voice an odd mixture of emotions.

Wade set his coffee down and opened his arms. “Come here,” he said. Peter obediently climbed onto Wade’s lap.

{Can we let Little  Wade out to play?}

[This is  _not_ the time!]

“You listen to me,” Wade said firmly. “You are the most wonderful, adorable, and cute thing that I have ever met.”

Peter snorted. “You’re the only one who would say that,” he said.

{I think we need to find out who made him think so bad of himself and unalive those fuckers.}

[I agree.]

“Then they’re blind,” said Wade firmly. His hand came up. “Boop.” He gently bopped Peter’s nose. Which twitched.

“Wade,” protested Peter. He leaned forward and rested his head against Wade’s chest. The two of them sat there for a moment, just listening to each other’s breathing.

At least until Wade noticed that Peter’s breathing was getting deep and regular. “ Peter?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Peter, you need to go to bed.”

“Um-hmm.” It was clear that he was too tired to even move his lips to talk. “Hmm um um.”

Wade smiled. How could the younger man not realize he was adorable? “Up you go,” he said as he heaved himself up to his feet and went down the hall to the bedroom.

“Um hmm hmm,” Peter complained.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Wade admitted as he opened the bedroom door and slipped Peter into the bed.

Peter opened two soft, brown eyes blearily. “I love you,” he said sleepily.

Wade’s heart constricted. It felt good and painful at the same time. “I love you too,” he said softly as he pressed a masked kiss to Peter’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you can't tell, I have a special sort of fondness for "Peter falling asleep on Wade" scenes, and really had to put one here. :)


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy couple's night times 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid storms. Stupid lightning. Stupid Advil, not wanting to work.

“So, is my husband actually paying you, or did he threaten you into this?” Mrs. Fisk asked as Wilson ducked into one of the shops to grab something for her.

Peter smiled at her. Over the course of the night he’d gotten to like the woman a lot, and it was clear that the two of them were very much in love. “I really am getting paid,” he reassured her.

“With money?”

Peter thought about the good it would do to get Runaways Unite off the streets. “With something better,” he assured her.  She looked skeptical, but Wilson darted out of the shop to wrap a fuzzy dark purple blanket with sparkles on it around her and Peter gets a picture of the shot. It is, like most of the pictures he’s gotten, adorable. 

A t the end of the night he hands the card (provided by Wilson) to the man and the man hands him a slip of paper, with an address. “One look at that,” Wilson said grimly, “will give you all you need.”

“Thanks,” Peter said as he accepted it. “And Happy Anniversary!” Wilson nodded.

“Thank you Peter,” said his wife with a sparkling smile as she snuggled up against her husband and Peter walked off into the night. 

He stopped under a street light and looked at the address. It wasn’t in one of the best neighborhoods, which didn’t bother him, but  _was_ right in the middle of Sniper territory—which was odd. Why would Runaways Unite plop themselves in the middle of the territory of the one gang that seemed determined to kill the street children? Unless—they didn’t  _care_ if the children died.

What were they doing? Would it be enough to destroy them? Peter hoped so.

“Petey-pie!” called a cheerful voice.

Peter couldn't stop the grin that cracked his face as he turned. “Wade,” he said as he was squished into the other’s chest. 

“You know, I was out doing patrol when my Petey senses started tingling,” Wade said.

“Petey senses?” asked Peter as he scrunched up his nose.

“Oh, you’re adorable. Boop.” Wade gently bopped the nose with a gloved finger before hugging Peter even tighter. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, my Petey senses. Like was saying I was patrolling and my Petey senses acted up. They said, ‘Peter is about to do something dangerous.’ Or maybe it was White saying that. I get them mixed up sometimes.”

“What does Yellow say?” asked Peter, curious.

“That we forget about everything on our minds and go home to cuddle on the couch.”

Peter’s face flamed as he remembered the last time they’d cuddled on the couch. He’d kind of hoped they might take their relationship up a level—but at the same time he was kind of relieved that all that happened was  that he fell asleep and Wade went home. As he’d never been in a relationship this deep before, he wasn’t entirely certain what the next step would actually  _be_ .

“Sorry to disappoint, Yellow,” Peter said gently, “but I have something dangerous that I need to do.” He showed Wade the address and explained the situation to him.

“You sure you need to do this, Baby Boy?” asked Wade.

“I’m _sure_ ,” said Peter firmly.

“Right. Let’s go.”

“What?” asked Peter, shocked. Actually—he wasn’t sure why he was shocked. Wade made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed spending time with Peter, and even Wade needed a break from patrol… 

“Let’s go! No way am I letting you into that dangerous neighborhood alone!” said Wade cheerfully.

Peter smiled again. “All right,” he said amiably as he followed his boyfriend. “Let’s go.”  He caught up and playfully bumped against Wade’s shoulder. “You can protect me, Hero,” he teased gently.

Wade gasped loudly and clutched a hand to his chest as he slumped over. “Petey, don’t  _do_ that to me!” he protested. “My heart almost  _stopped_ !”

Peter reached over to kiss the masked cheek. “You’ll have to get used to it Triple, or your heart really will  _pop_ .”

“Wait, does that mean—?”

“Wade, come on! There’s only so much of the night left!”

Neither of them noticed they were being watched by a solemn pair of yellow eyes. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter on a rooftop.

“Have you found them?” The voice on the other end was desperate—but then he had reason to be. 

She sighed and rolled her eyes, grateful that he couldn't see her. “I’ve got a general area for them, but nothing specific yet,” she warned him.  He had a good reason for being desperate—but she had an equally good one for not telling him more. “Look on the bright side; they’re safe,” she said as she watched a small group of four street children (they’d taken to wandering in groups of four instead two) warily pass under her position. “These tykes really look after each other,” she said affectionately.

A sigh ruffled the line. “They shouldn't  _have_ to,” said the frustrated man.

“No. But it’s better to be in a group than alone.” Especially on _these_ streets. Especially now; with all the different people after them. They seemed to be adjusting well to the danger. For one, they started going out in groups of four instead of two. For another, after a certain time of night they just—vanished. No one knew where they went or where they came from, but between the hours of eleven at night to six in the morning there wasn’t a single child of the street _on_ the street.

“I just want them to be safe.”

“And they are.” She was certain of it. She may _not_ know what caused the differences in behavior she was seeing, but she knew the new behavior was safer than the old. 

“If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know,” she promised before hanging up. 

“Well,” said a voice behind her, “ _that_ isn’t ominous at all.”

She squeaked, jumped, rolled, and stopped with a  sai in each hand as she faced her opponent. She paused. Her opponent—was a child? Not as young as the children she’d been shadowing, not nearly, but—also clearly not an adult. Still, she knew better than to assume the opponent was harmless. After all, this not-child not-adult was clearly skilled enough to conceal their presence from  _her_ . “What are you?”

A smile quirked the thin lips. “Most people ask  _who_ I am—but you see more than most, don’t you?” The two of them began a slow, wary dance. 

Well,  _she_ was wary. The not-adult not-child appeared to be amused and relaxed—but wasn’t open. There was no move that she could make to kill her opponent, and she could see it. “What do you want?” she asked again.

“To protect,” said the opponent flatly.

She paused. To protect? She’d heard many  claims. This one was odd—and truth. “Protect what?” she asked.

The opponent smiled, a real smile this time. “For now,” the not-adult not-child said, “I’m protecting the street children. I’m their big sister.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” The opponent took a step forwards and suddenly she was encased in a pressure that made her want to flee—but she’d long since had practice standing her ground. “All of the street children, and there are more than you think, are under my protection. Including the two you’ve been stalking.” The opponent smirked. “Did you think they wouldn't notice? Not much gets by these kids.”

“You’re not one of them.” The statement was flat—but true. There was a certain—air, so to speak, around the street kids, and this—person, didn’t have it.

“What rule says I have to be?” The opponent stopped moving, stopped—and studied her. “I hear there’s a demon walking the streets.”

She scoffed. “Only the  _one_ ?” she asked derisively.

“Oh, this is a special demon. One that can infect others. And the children are long gone now.” A quick turn (keeping an eye on the opponent) showed that the other was right—the children were long gone, vanished into whatever hole they sprang from.

“They have a father.”

“Most do.” A shrug. “That being said—not all fathers are created equal.”

“He only wants to protect them.” She knew it as well as she knew her name, her identity, her blades. 

“Doesn’t mean he knows the best way to do it. Have you even asked what they’re running from?”

She paused. There was something in the other’s voice, an emotion she didn’t—quite—recognize. “Do you know?”

“I do. And right now, _for_ right now, they’re safer where they are than anything else.”

She stepped back, slowly put her sais back in their sheaths, and then stepped away—keeping an eye on the other. “I won’t be able to convince him of that.”

“Not if he’s a good father,” agreed the other. She began to leave. “And Elektra?” She paused, heart racing that this Unknown knew her name. When on a mission she didn’t even _think_ it. “Watch out for spiders. Especially spiders that used to be human.” With that cryptic remark—the other was gone. Vanished. As if the encounter had never taken place.

She frowned and checked the jewel on her wrist. It wa s designed to show if she’d been tampered with by mind powers—but the jewel was fine. Just as pristine as it had been when she’d gotten ready earlier. 

Had it been a vision? She had them sometimes, to warn her of things that were coming—but this didn’t seem like those. There was something more solid to it, like it had actually happened instead of the blurred vibrancy that usually accompanied her visions.  She might need to consult with someone about this.

First she had to explain everything to the father. 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to save Ellie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the chapter is late. This thing happened, and I had to take medication for it, and I couldn't type very well when it was in my system. Sorry.

“Sorry!” Peter said to Beth as he rushed to the back office. “I know I’m late—I’m sorry!” he said as he danced around the new guy in the office and slipped into the office panting. The exertion wasn’t enough to make him out of breath, but it _should_ have been. “Sorry I’m late Mr. Jamison!”

For one solid minute the only sound in the office was that of crunching candy. “Parker. Your submission.”

Peter winced. It was never good when Jamison used short sentences. He quickly pulled the folder out of his bag, ignoring Eddie’s raised brow at the glossy cartoon on it, and handed it over. Jamison slowly opened it—and his thick bushy brows flew up so fast they practically melted into his hair.

“No! Really?” he looked at Peter, candy crunching at a furious pace.

Peter nodded grimly. “The proof is under it.”

Jamison reached out, pulled some more of the large, round spheres from his candy jar before popping them in his mouth and then began sorting through the information in the folder. The candy crunching furiously was the only sound in the room.

Peter had felt both horror at his discoveries and a small sense of vicious satisfaction. Maybe _this_ would be enough to get the street children some _real_ help. Probably not, but he could hope.

“Robbie!” screamed Jamison. Peter ducked aside as the door slammed open to admit the new guy. He waved in what he hoped was a friendly manner, and the man smiled and nodded at him before turning to Jamison. Jamison took the papers that had already been on his desk (probably Eddie’s submission) and handed both them and the folder to Robbie. “This one,” he said tapping Eddie’s Paper, “Front page second article. This one,” he said tapping the folder, “front page main article.” Robbie nodded and left.

Eddie looked enraged. “Hey!” he demanded.

The candy crunched as Jamison spoke. “Parker got information that Runaways Unite is using their access to street children for trafficking purposes,” he explained.

Peter was just glad that he’d been with Deadpool when they’d found it. He’d been able to get the information on past “sales” off the servers, and Wade had said that he knew a guy who could use it track down and rescue all the children. More importantly, Wade had argued, the guy would be _invested_ in finding them—whatever that meant.

Wade had also been firm about escorting Peter straight to his apartment after their discoveries and making him promise that he wouldn't leave until morning. Peter had retaliated, making him promise not to kill everyone involved. It had been a battle.

Peter glanced up at Eddie—and cringed away at the raw hatred in the man’s eyes. “And how did _Peter_ ,” demanded the larger man, “learn about this?”

“Don’t know,” said Jamison, candy crunching with each bite. “Don’t care. Parker.”

“I—I’ve got to get to SI,” Peter stammered before fleeing. He didn’t just want to escape the Bugle—he also wanted to see what was going on with Dr. Banner’s work. For the first time in far too long, his steps felt light as he ran.

“Mr. Parker!”

And the good feeling crashed. He swerved mid-step and ran into the alley the kid was calling him into. “What happened?” he asked warily.

The kid looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “They took Ellie!” it whispered.

“Who?” demanded Peter. He was going to have to save the child; he needed to know where.

“The—the big ones,” the child said, clearly frightened. “The ones with—” The kid looked around quickly and then allowed a tiny spark to shoot from a finger.

The X-Men. The X-Men had taken Ellie off the streets and to their home. “All right. I’ll do what I can,” he said grimly before running off. Thanks to Wade buying him so much food, he actually had a little money stored away. He _had_ been planning to keep it for emergencies (or maybe a Christmas gift for Aunt May), but this _was_ an emergency. And it was just enough to rent a car (because Peter Parker couldn’t exactly swing into the Manor and demand they release the clearly abandoned child they probably believed they had rescued.

And they might have. Peter wasn’t certain that he was doing the right thing; Ellie _was_ probably safer at the Manor than on the streets (especially with the Snipers still at large). Still—he had to try and get her back. He knew that while she may have lived on the streets she’d made a _home_ . She was _family_ with the other children. And he knew what having family ripped away felt like.

He firmly kept that in mind as he drove up the long, winding drive to the Manor. He kept it in mind as he parked the car (insured, because _not_ insuring a rental car in New Amsterdam was financial suicide), and walked up the tall, carved stone steps of the manor.

The first noise that greeted Peter when he opened the doors was that of children laughing. Footsteps running down the halls. He danced out of the way as a small herd (some in animal form) of healthy, _happy_ children stampeded past him.

Did he have the right to take Ellie away from here, when he knew she was just going to end up on the streets again? Wouldn’t it be better for her if she just—got used to living here? If she spent the rest of her childhood here?

Unbidden in his mind voices rose up.

“ _He’ll do better in the city.”_

“ _He’s better off in the country.”_

“ _Doesn’t it seem like he_ belongs _here?”_

No. He would talk to Ellie, ask what she wanted, but he would _not_ make that decision for the child. Ellie had a right to decide where to live.

He took a step in and was stopped by a beautiful redheaded woman. She looked similar, but was different in a very clear way from MJ. Although they were about the same height, MJ had a more open feel to her, more friendly. This woman was clearly separating herself from him an authoritative and dignified air. “Professor Xavier would like to see you,” she told him firmly.

Of course he would. Professor Xavier was the most powerful telepath in the _world_ ; he’d probably heard Peter’s frantically churning thoughts before he even hit the property line. Peter winced; he hoped he hadn’t accidentally given the man a headache— _he_ wouldn't like to have to eavesdrop on his own chaotic thoughts. “Th—thank you,” he said as apologetically as possible.

Her dark green eyes were unreadable. “This way,” she ordered. He meekly followed her through the ostentatious halls and took great comfort in the hand drawn murals that graced the bottom half of most of the walls. There were scratches on the doors, height markers on walls, and every few feet were toys discarded on the floor.

In short; the Manor looked exactly like what it _was_ ; an ostentatious manor built by Old Money that became a school and home for children. Looking around Peter could see that the children were well cared for. Even the few adults he saw (his guide aside) seemed relatively happy. She led him to a scarred wooden door. He wasn’t an expert, by any stretch of the imagination—but those looked like sword marks in the wood.

“Good eye,” called a voice from inside as his guide opened the door. Inside the office was a desk that Xavier was (of course) sitting at, and standing next to it was a tall man with brown hair and goggles that covered his eyes from edge to edge. “Thank you Jean. I believe the children in the basketball court are considering blowing it up again.”

“That is _not_ a basketball court!” growled Jean as she turned and stalked off.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Parker,” Xavier said as he gestured to the chairs.

“ _Never start a negotiation on lesser footing.”_

Words from back when Peter actually _liked_ Norman, and looked up to the man. “Thank you, but I’ll stand,” he said softly.

The man leaning against the wall snorted. “If you insist.”

“Scott,” Xavier said with warning before he turned to look at Peter again. “You came for Ellie.”

There was no reason to deny it. “I did, yes.”

“Are you here to take her?” The words were mild; the eyes watching him were not. Peter got the impression those dark eyes didn’t miss much, and not nearly as much of what they saw was as due to the telepathy as people thought.

“I’m here to see if she wants to leave,” said Peter firmly.

Scott, not moving from his position, scoffed again. “She was living on the streets,” the other man said.

“A lot of children are,” Peter said firmly. He viewed the man warily. “A lot of them call the streets ‘home.’ Do you have the right to take a child away from home, against its will?”

“It? Mr. Parker.” Peter’s attention shifted back to Xavier and waited for the man to finish. To his surprise, the man abandoned the previous protest. “The streets are dangerous, Mr. Parker.”

“Yes.”

“Children die on them every day.”

“They do.” Peter had seen them. Seen them broken, bloody—having gotten there too late to help.

“And it seems that they have been going missing, as well.”

Of course they were. He felt certain that Runaways Unite was responsible for a huge number of them. But they were about to get exposed.

“So, she really would be safer here.”

Peter met the man’s gaze firmly. “And does _she_ believe this?” he asked.

“What does _that_ matter?” demanded Scott. The voice of all those who believed children shouldn't be heard.

“It _matters_ ,” Peter said angrily, “because that _child_ is a _person_.” He glared at the man.

“ _The one who loses his cool first during a negotiation loses.”_

Another lesson. Another time. Still valid. He took a slow, deep breath before he began again. “There are a _lot_ of children who live on the streets.”

“We _know_ that,” said Scott dismissively.

“And most of those children have powers.”

_Now_ he had the other man’s attention. “ You will _never_ find all of them if they associate you with other children disappearing.”

“So you think we should just put her on the streets?” demanded Scott.

Xavier raised a hand and Scott subsided into murmurs. “The fact of the matter is that Ellie must be trained,” he said simply. “She needs to learn how to control her powers, before SHIELD finds out about them.”

Peter nodded. He had his own issues with SHIELD, after all. “She could be a day student,” he said, “or stay here during the week and leave on the weekends— _if_ ,” and Peter stressed the word firmly, “she wants to.”

The door opened. “I got her. Damn it Chuck, this talking in my head thing is really freaky.” The short, hairy man came in with a shrieking bundle under one arm and unceremoniously dropped her to the floor.

“Logan,” sighed Xavier.

The child jumped up, then saw Peter. Her face crumpled. “Mr. Parker!” she cried as she flung herself into his arms—much as he’d done to Wade before. He held her gently as she sobbed.

“It’s okay,” he soothed as he gently rubbed her back. “It’s okay.”

“I—I wa—want to go ho—home!” she sobbed.

“All right.” Peter picked her up.

“And Mr. Parker?” said Xavier as Peter headed towards the door. “Thank you.”

_He knows_ . A second after that realization, _he will never tell_. Charles Xavier had just as many reasons to be wary as Peter Parker did—more, if the school was included. Peter nodded and stepped away.

Only to run into a hairy arm. “Parker?” asked the short, hairy man. “As in ‘Peter Parker’?” he asked.

Peter blinked. “Yes,” he said hesitantly.

“Are you really dating Deadpool?”


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie tries to escape, and then learns someone came for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--I've been under the weather. Updates will not be predictable for a while. Sorry.
> 
> Also, Erica45 did another lovely piece of art for this fic, depicting our own suspicious Ellie. (I don't know how you got that look on her face, but it's awesome. :) )
> 
> https://heatherica45.tumblr.com/post/186243361202/ellie-from-thestrangones-fic-new-amsterdam

Ellie had prowled the Manor—but they were well used to newcomers trying to escape. Of _course_ the newcomers would escape if they were all just snatched like she’d been! She had to get back—she had to protect the others—didn’t she?

After all, Angel was there. And with the few changes Angel had made to their routines, they’d been even safer. No one had even needed to call for Angel, because the Snipers _couldn't_ get them alone anymore. Of course they still had to watch out for the police, and Runaways Unite—but life _was_ better.

But—Angel’s presence was merely temporary, a fact that was proven when Ellie watched part of what looked like a tattoo of tally marks vanish from Angel’s arm. Ellie had asked, and Angel had simply responded that the marks weren’t tattoos, and when they vanished the portal would open again and she’d go through it. So, while they had Angel _now_ , they weren’t going to have her for very long—and they were going to need Ellie again.

First she had to get out. She thought the weakest point would be the kitchen. So many people went through (everyone was allowed into the kitchen to get food at any time; a necessity given how much food some of the children needed) that she was sure she could find a way out. Since everyone had access to the kitchen at any point in time—then that meant there had to be a way to _leave_ from the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” a curious, chipper voice asked as she looked under a cabinet. None of these cabinets were locked—not that a lock would do them much good. Angel had been teaching them how to pick locks of various kinds. Ellie in particular had taken to the new information. Knowing how to pick locks was a good way of making sure that she was never trapped.

“Looking for a way out,” Ellie answered absently. She was going to have to ask Angel for some more lessons.

“Why?”

Ellie turned—and stared. In front of her was a beautiful girl, just a little shorter (but probably older; Ellie’d been on short rations for a while now) girl with pink hair. “Hi,” Ellie said distantly as the almond shaped eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Hi.” The girl held out a hand. “I’m Yukio.”

Names were rare currency among the street kids—but a name deserved a name in return. Besides, it wasn’t as though the rest of these people didn’t already know her name. “Ellie.” Shy and uncertain Ellie reached out and the other girl took her hand (warm, soft) and shook it.

Yukio tilted her head in an adorable way as she looked at Ellie. “Why do you need to leave?” she asked.

Right. Leave. For a moment, Ellie had forgotten. “There are people out there I _have_ to protect,” Ellie explained. “I can’t _do_ that from here!”

“Right. Who’s the new kid?” Before Ellie could properly register what was happening she was picked up and tucked under an arm, football style.

“Put me down!” ordered Ellie as she struggled, flailing with her feet (her arms were pinned).

“Nope. Chuck says someone's here for you.”

Ellie shrieked and struggled more. She couldn't think of anyone who would come for her—at least not anyone she wanted to see. She tried to brace her feet against the walls to stop the progress—but they were too slick and her shoes just slid down them.

She was abruptly set down, whirled—and saw Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker, who always made time for them. Mr. Parker, who didn’t assume he knew what was best. Mr. Parker—who had come. For Ellie. She burst into tears and flung herself towards him as she sobbed. “I—I wa—want to go ho—home!” Any other time she would have been embarrassed—but he’d come. He’d come for _her_.

“All right,” Mr. Parker said as he gently picked her up, gently rubbing her back. “Let’s go home.”

She looked up as he stopped, terrified that they were going to be prevented from leaving. “Parker?” asked the man who’d carried her to the room. “As in, ‘Peter Parker’?”

“Yes.” Ellie was no expert, but Mr. Parker sounded wary.

“Are you really dating Deadpool?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Parker. He had a slight smile on his face, the one she was familiar with when he was with Wade.

“Deadpool?” asked Ellie.

“Wade,” Peter translated.

Ellie connected the name to the costumed man who’d hurt Juby’s dad. “Oh—the safe one?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Mr. Parker as they were suddenly surrounded by coughing fits. He turned to the hairy man. “Excuse me,” he said politely before he turned to leave.

On their way out, they passed Yukio. “Hi, Ellie,” Yukio chirped. “Aren’t you glad your dad came?”

Peter reached out and gently ruffled the bright pink hair. “We’re going home, but you’ll probably meet again later.”

Yukio grinned happily. “I’d like that,” she said before wandering off.

Mr. Parker took her outside and to a small blue car. “I didn’t know you had a car,” she said as he saw her safely buckled in a gesture she found—odd. Nice, but odd—like most of what Mr. Parker did.

“It’s a rental,” Mr. Parker explained.

Ellie clutched her seat belt. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew how little money Mr. Parker had. She also knew, from the way tourists complained, how expensive rental cars were. And he’d spent the money he didn’t have because _Ellie_ , random street kid he barely knew and probably hadn’t even been certain of the _gender_ of, had needed help.

She didn’t understand _why_ . True, Angel was looking after them too, but—but Angel was almost _one_ of them, and the kids always stood by each other. They had to.

But adults were different. They always wanted something. They always expected something. The only thing that Mr. Parker had gotten from them was trouble. They took his time, they took his money—and it seemed to be okay. He didn’t seem to hate them for it, like everyone else did.

Sometime down the road, Mr. Parker pulled over and leaned his head against the steering wheel taking slow, deep breaths. “I wasn’t sure that would work,” he confessed. He laughed weakly before restarting the car. “To tell you the truth,” Mr. Parker confessed as he pulled back out onto the road, “that man scares the Hell out of me.”

He had faced someone he was scared of—for Ellie.

_Why?!_


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade's bragging about Peter in a bar when he learns something disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right my lovelies--my next update is going to be late. I know, I know--but it's going to be a cliffhanger and I'm going to wait until I have both halves up and ready for posting before I post. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Wade’s eyes stared dreamily at the wall of liquor behind Weasel. He hadn’t even protested when the bartender slipped him a non-alcoholic drink. “And he has the most beautiful eyes,” Wade sighed. “Like chocolate.”

“Uh-huh.” Weasel did not seem to be impressed.

{Don’t forget his smile.}

“And the sweetest smile,” Wade added. “And he smiles a lot. At me!” Wade was still touched and surprised. People didn’t smile at him. Well, not genuine smiles, not like Peter gave him.

“Wilson, you still babbling on about your fake boyfriend?” asked a merc Wade was vaguely familiar with as he came up to the bar.

“He’s not fake,” Wade protested to the other’s obvious amusement.

The man rolled his eyes visibly. “Sure he’s not. That’s why none of us have ever seen him.”

[None of you jackasses have ever seen him because you’re not fit to walk on the same side of the street as our Peter.]

{Why are _we_ here? We could be _with_ him right now!}

Wade needed to brag about his new relationship (Petey-pie had said “I love you!”), and this was the only real place he knew people. Well, since he was kicked out of the Manor again. While they couldn't _kill_ him, it would take too much time for his body to regenerate and he had patrols to do—and Peter to date.

{We should take him to a museum! He likes that kind of stuff!}

[We’d get kicked out before we even made it through the door.]

Wade chuckled. “You can’t kill my mood,” he said with a soppy grin. “I’m too much in love.”

The merc rolled his eyes as Weasel pinched his nose. “Love, right,” said Weasel. “Question—does _he_ know the two of you are dating?”

“It was his suggestion!” Wade happily announced.

The merc to his side snorted. “And how bad did you have to threaten him for _that_ to happen?”

{How rude!}

[He’s baiting you.]

Wade shook his finger at the other merc. “You’re trying to make me mad,” he said, half singing. “But it’s not going to work,” he added. He belted down another shot. “I love my Baby Boy too much.”

“Right. Weasel, this freak’s freaking me out.”

“Here.” Weasel handed over a gold card only for Wade’s hand to reach out and grab the wrist as he stared at the embossed name on the card.

“Who put out this hit?” asked Wade darkly as he stared at the name.

Weasel froze. “You know I can’t give you that information,” he said. Sweat beaded at the man’s hairline as he stared at the suddenly serious, suddenly dangerous mercenary in front of him.

[We can _make_ him give it to us.]

{But—Spidey and Pete will be disappointed.}

Wade couldn't bear to disappoint either of them. “Right. Weasel, hold on to that card while I go murder the fucker that wants my baby boy dead.” He grimly got up from his seat.

“You’re dating a _reporter_?” asked Weasel in a high-pitched voice.

[I _knew_ he knows more about those cards than he claims!]

{We’ve got to get Peter somewhere safe.}

[At least he gave us a place to start looking.]

{We can’t let anything happen to Peter!}

[The hit’s probably related to that article he wrote, about that non-profit.]

{We’ve got to protect him!}

[And how do you suppose we do that? You know Peter, the moment we tell him someone's trying to kill him he’s going to run to figure out who with no regards to his own safety.]

He would, too. Wade was all too familiar with that recklessness. No wonder the kid was mostly a photographer; as a regular reporter he would have died four times over. No, there was only one way to keep him safe.

[What was that?]

{Oh! Good idea! Good idea!}

[No, it’s a terrible idea. I thought we established this isn’t how to start a relationship?]

“Our relationship’s already started!”

[This is _not_ the way to _keep_ a relationship! Wade!]

Wade ignored White. There wasn’t _going_ to be a relationship if Peter got killed—which, given that he was a name on one of Weasel’s cards, was significantly likely. The people in that bar, their failures to kill him aside, were the best at what they did. Peter wouldn't even know he was in danger, and Spidey was still out of town. Still, he knew exactly what to do.

[This is a bad idea.]


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets some terrifying news from his landlord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. A long time ago, back when I was working on Kingdoms (which I might pick up again) I had a Spideypool fangirl coworker (who is no longer a coworker because my job has an insanely high turnover rate). She made a comment, I posted it along with a chapter, and one of my readers said they'd love to read the story. So, I want everyone to give littleonevixen a round of applause or a cheer (or a quiet smile, whatever's best for your homes) because without those two people this story wouldn't exist. And I hope everyone is still enjoying.
> 
> Part 1: Peter's POV

Fortunately, Ellie had been understanding of the deal that Peter had had to make on her behalf to get her out of there. And she mentioned that if she learned how to control her own powers (and she didn’t tell him what those were and he didn’t ask) she could teach the others how to control theirs. A good goal. One worth striving for. Peter heartily supported it.

Dr. Banner had been less understanding about everything. The older man frowned at him, silver glinting through his brown hair. “Peter, I can’t care less about what happens in your private life. If you are working in my lab, you will be here promptly on time.”

“Yes Sir,” said Peter, dejected.

“Good. Now then, for the last hour and a half,” the tense tone betrayed the anger the man was feeling and Peter winced again, “that I have you, let me catch you up on what I’m doing so that you help me tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir,” agreed Peter obediently. Dr. Banner pulled up the files on the chemical equations he was using. Unlike Dr. Stacey’s lab, his had a holographic overlay screen, similar to the one in Tony’s office. Halfway through the presentation, Peter paused it. “Dr. Banner, it looks like you’re attempting to create an inorganic compound designed to pass through the blood-brain barrier.”

Dr. Banner pushed his own glasses up, with the wrist of his hand, like Peter did. “Why yes. I’m in charge of the medical treatment of most of the Avengers, and the with the healing factors most of them have painkillers simply will not work unless I can get them through the barrier swiftly, and even then don’t work for very long.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to swap this chemical out?” Peter tentatively touched the screen, flipping the chemical Bruce had up for the one he had thought of. “It would make the molecule smaller, more likely pass through,” Peter explained, “and if you add this one here,” again, showing on the model, “you can create a minor healing block for the factor, allowing it to work longer. In theory.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Banner intrigued. “In theory. Luckily, we have rats.”

The two of them were so engaged in their work that it wasn’t until Dr. Stacey tapped on the glass outside the lab that Peter noticed it was almost time to go. She poked her head into the lab. “If I don’t get to keep him over,” she said firmly, “neither do you.”

“Dr. Stacey has a point,” said Dr. Banner irritably. “Peter, you may go. Please _try_ to be on time tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” said Peter softly.

“Hey, if you’re not willing to have him in your lab, he’s always welcome back in mine. I’m doing some fantastic things with the organic matrix.” She grinned showing teeth in an almost predatory smile. “I might even make a brain. We’ll see.”

Peter chuckled nervously. He had to get to Oscorp. He had just finished that product Norman wanted, and he wanted to check in on Harry. Make sure his friend was okay. Try to help him leave surreptitiously. Remind them to call him and let him know when the baby arrived. He nodded stiffly to both Dr. Banner and Dr. Stacey and then hung up his coat before leaving.

Peter paused on his way to Oscorp when he saw the newspaper in one of the boxes. The headline screamed at him and he couldn't suppress his bitter smile. It looked like Jamison had, for the moment, found someone else to focus his wrath on—and when it wasn’t focused on his alter ego, he found he had a much greater appreciation for it.

 

**RUNAWAYS UNITE UNMASKED**

**EVIL DEEDS COME TO LIGHT**

 

It probably wouldn't be enough. He knew that. He knew that the majority of what they did would get slid under the rug—for a nonprofit they had big backers. Norman wasn’t even the tip of that iceberg.

Still—they now had attention from people who had never really looked at them before. Even the public that hated the fact that the alleys swarmed with the children of the street would be mortified by what he’d uncovered—and then there was Wade. He had no doubt, none at all, that even if Wade hadn’t decided to hunt down every last surviving member of Runaways Unite, he had passed the information on to someone who would. Their days were numbered and he felt a vicious satisfaction.

All of the pictures he’d taken had been turned over (well, _copies_ of all the pictures he’d taken had been turned over—Wade had the originals) to Jamison who would hand it over (keeping his name out of it) to the police when they came to investigate. The police would, of course, demand to know who had gotten the information and Jamison would, of course, reply that he had to protect his sources. Peter didn’t get credit for the article (he could see the credited name as Robbie Robertson), but he got paid, and that was the important thing. The anonymity was also important—he didn’t want anyone connecting photographer Peter Parker to the reporter who outed a trafficking ring. Too much could go wrong.

Pictures. He still had that album he’d made (in secret, of course) of Harry and MJ. He’d planned to give it as a wedding gift but if things went according to plan—Harry wouldn't live long enough to _have_ a wedding. Before the full weight of that decision could settle on Peter again he shook his head and tried to force the feeling away. After all, he still needed to function, and Wade was nowhere to be seen—probably off saving some part of the city or terrifying criminals onto the path of the straight and narrow.

He turned and went back to his apartment. The album was hidden in the one place that MJ would never think to look—the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. He wouldn't have any trouble getting in and getting it. And he thought they might like it. They liked the albums he never intended to see the light of day, and he didn’t put nearly as much effort into those.

On the way into the building he was blocked by the manager. The small man managed to look down his nose at Peter, who shrank a little into himself at the fierce gaze. He’d like the woman who’d owned the building before, the one he’d actually signed a rental contract with—but her son seemed determined to hate Peter for some reason.

“Rent is due on the first,” the man said grimly, with a similar satisfaction in his voice to what Peter had felt reading the headline of the paper.

Peter’s heart stuttered. “The first? But, it’s always been due on the fifteenth!” he protested. He’d paid it on time! He always paid it on time (although granted, sometimes he paid it at eleven fifty-nine at night, but he paid it on the day it was due).

“It has changed,” the man informed him tartly. “If you do not pay your rent on the new date,” he added viciously, “I will be forced to evict you.” He smiled before leaving.

Peter stared after him despondently. He’d just started getting his life back together—and now this? There was no way he was going to be able to make it on time; the first was just two days away! What was he going to do?

He staggered back into the street, seeing nothing as plans turned violently in his head. He couldn't get an advance on pay from SI, the money from the article he’d submitted for the Bugle wasn’t enough to cover it, what was he going to do? He didn’t want to lose his apartment. If he did he’d have to go back to live with his aunt, at least for a while—and it was too dangerous for Aunt May for him to live under the same roof as he continued to be Spiderman.

Despite Deadpool doing a better job of watching the city than Spiderman ever did, Peter just couldn't bring himself to fully cut off that part of himself. He felt a need to get out there and help, and plain old Peter Parker just couldn't. Besides, there were people who depended on Spiderman—weren’t there?

He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice his surroundings, and never saw the pair of hands that grabbed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And no, what the landlord is doing is not legal in this AU. It will be addressed later.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade talks to Peter about what he did. Peter has a little bit of a freak out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Wade's POV

[Have you lost your  _mind_ ?!]

Wade winced as White screamed in his mind while he hauled Peter’s unconscious body to his lair. “We have to protect him!” he protested.

{We can’t let anything bad happen to Petey-pie!}

[Peter is  _never_ going to speak to us again! Damn it Wade; I thought we were past this whole kidnapping shit!]

{How else are we going to keep him from getting hurt?}

[Maybe talk to him like an ADULT?!]

Wade winced again as he opened the door and gently took Peter inside. The apartment was a good ten floors up, was in a place that somehow managed to  _not_ have a fire escape, and he was the only one with the keys. Well, if Spidey was back, then he could get Peter out.

[If? IF? You mean  _when_ , Wade. And good luck explaining this to Spiderman! He’s going to run us out of the city!]

{He’s protective of Peter too!}

[And how is  _Peter_ going to feel when he realizes his  _boyfriend_ just kidnapped him?]

Neither Wade nor Yellow had an answer for that. Wade felt his heart sink; he knew, just  _knew_ that this would be the thing that broke them up, make Peter not want to see him again—but he had to do it. He  _had_ to know that Peter was safe, and this was the only way.

As Wade set Peter down gently on the sofa (a new, clean one that Wade had bought just earlier that week), his eyes blinked blearily open and he stared vacantly at Wade. “What happened?” he asked as he brought up a wrist to push his glasses back into place. His other hand came up and pulled the glasses off completely as he blinked rapidly. He looked around. “Did you—did you  _kidnap_ me?” he asked.

His voice was a mixture of confusion and disbelief—but not rage.

[Not yet.]

Wade crouched in front of Peter. “Hey,” he said nervously. “You know how I used to be a super bad-ass mercenary who killed for the highest bidder?”

More blinks. Peter still looked out of it. “You don’t do that anymore,” he said, sounding confused. “Do you?” he asked, eyes wide.

“No!” shouted Wade. He cleared his throat and continued at a lower voice. “No, Baby Boy, I don’t kill people anymore. But, see, I still go to the bar just to touch base and brag about my pretty boyfriend and—and your name was on a card,” he explained.

“A card—what?” asked Peter. He still sounded confused.

[He  _sounds_ concussed. You hit too hard.]

Knowing he shouldn't, but unable to help himself, Wade reached up and took one of Peter’s hands in his gloved one. “They give out cards with the names of marks on them,” he repeated gently. “Your name is on a card Peter.”

“Why?” asked Peter. He sounded scared, confused and vulnerable.

[Yeah—that’s not going to last long. He’s going to  _never speak to us again_ .]

{We had to!}

That was the bitch of it. They had to protect Peter—even if it meant that he’d never (rightfully) speak them again. “I don’t know,” Wade said gently. He wanted to reach out and hug Peter close to him—but he didn’t have that right anymore. He couldn't do anything unless Peter said it was okay. “I’m going to find out,” he promised grimly. He didn’t add that the fucker would die—Petey-pie shared the same moralistic sense of justice as Spiderman and would ask him not to kill. “I just need you to stay here,” he continued.

To no one’s surprise, Peter’s eyes widened and he began to freak out. “My rent’s due in two days!” he yelled. “If I’m not there first thing in the morning, Dr. Banner will have me fired!” he added. He began to shake as he continued. “The Bugle will cut me back to freelance again!” Suddenly his eyes went even wider and he shook as he darted forwards, grabbing the straps to Wade’s katana sheaths. “Norman!” he cried. Tears began to leak out. “Harry,” he whimpered.

Wade carefully, loosely (in case Peter changed his mind and wanted to get out) hugged the younger man. “It will be okay,” he assured Peter. “Hey,” he said gently as he smoothed Peter’s hair out of his face. “Look at me.” Peter looked up, tears streaking down his face.

{That hurts.}

[This was  _your_ idea!]

“Do you trust me?” Wade asked.

[He shouldn't. He  _should_ be planning to run for the hills.]

Peter looked up into the mask for a moment before burying his face in Wade’s chest again. “Yes,” Peter mumbled into the suit, vibrations stinging Wade’s skin for a moment.

{Holy Shit. He trusts  _us_ .}

[Clearly he needs professional help.]

“Trust me,” Wade said, ignoring the boxes. “Everything will be all right. I’m a big, bad mercenary. No one will expect you to get away from me; I’ll go and explain everything to them.”

Peter was silent for a moment before he spoke again; Wade rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Norman’s insane, Wade. Not the good kind, not like you.”

That felt—warming. Wade wasn’t certain why. He didn’t examine the feeling. “ It’s okay,” he said again. “I know how to deal with insane people.”

{Kill them all!}

[If we do  _that_ , Peter’s best friend dies! Honestly, don’t you  _listen_ to anything?]

“And Hulking Banner won’t fire you,” Wade said gently, changing the subject. “I’ll talk to Tony.”

“Tony?”

Wade smiled at the mix of disgust and worry in the single name. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to Pepper instead.” He began to gently stroke Peter’s hair. “And the Bugle will understand.” At Peter’s snort he said, “Well, maybe not. But they’ll keep you on the payroll anyway, just to keep me from blowing up the building.”

“Wade!”

“Don’t worry,” soothed Wade gently. “I won’t _actually_ blow it up. I’ll only threaten to.” He was quiet for a moment, listening to Peter’s breathing.

[You are so lucky he’s not trying to kill you or jump out the window right now.]

“And you won’t get evicted,” Wade said firmly. “I’ll talk to your landlord, and make sure he understands what’s going on.”

“He’s not an understanding person,” grumbled Peter.

{Then we kill  _him_ .}

[No. If the apartment goes through probate, chances are Peter will be evicted. But we can maim him.]

“Don’t worry,” said Wade, keeping his voice soft. “I’ve got it covered.” At the unbelieving snort he said, “I do. All I need,” he said firmly, “is for you to stay here and _safe_. Just for a little while.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “Wade,” he began.

Wade wasn’t about to let him finish. A gloved hand came up to cup Peter’s cheek and the younger man leaned into it like a touch-starved cat.

{He doesn’t hate us!}

[He’s probably still out of it.]

“I can do it, Petey,” he said gently. “Just—just get some rest, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were already closing.

[Isn’t it a bad idea to sleep with a concussion?]

{He’s not concussed!}

“Mm-kay,” he sighed before melting back into the couch.

“Good. Now, I’m going to go make sure that everything goes all right while you’re gone, and tomorrow we’re going to see if we can figure out who wants you dead.”

Peter’s somber eyes met the whites of the mask like he could see Wade’s eyes behind them. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

Wade reached out and smoothed some hair out of Peter’s face. “I’m sure,” he said firmly.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick flashback chapter of Spiderman and Deadpool interacting. Hope everyone likes it. :)

Peter supposed he  _should_ be panicking; after all he’d been kidnapped by the infamous Deadpool, was in an apartment that might as well be Rapunzel’s tower, and someone wanted him dead.  But—but he was Spiderman, and it seemed like someone new wanted him dead every Tuesday. Granted, it was more than a little concerning that someone wanted  _Peter Parker_ dead instead of Spiderman, but still an everyday occurrence.

A quick look around after Wade left showed that while he might have tried to lock  _Peter_ in a tower, his boyfriend had no idea that he was also  _Spiderman_ . Which was good—and meant that Peter could, in reality, leave at any time. He just had to climb down the wall outside the building to the street, and he could. Easy. Easier than actually climbing down a ladder.

Even back when Wade had been exclusively Deadpool, he hadn’t been in the business of hurting people he’d thought were innocent.  The two of them had  _met_ because Deadpool had wanted to save children. Granted, he hadn’t been sure if the children were  _real—_ but that hadn’t stopped him from trying. Given that Wade wanted to  _protect_ Peter, well, Peter knew he was safe.

I t was kind of nice, being the one protected for a change. He was usually the one protecting other people; as many as he could from Norman, people from muggers as Spiderman, the street children as Peter…anyone he could protect (or at least  _try_ to protect), he did. So  _being_ protected—was new. Nice.

Besides; it wasn’t the first time that Deadpool had kidnapped him.

 

Peter had been swinging around New Amsterdam as Spiderman—when he’d blacked out. Still not entirely certain what had happened, he’d woken up on a couch with a game controller on his lap, and the mask still on.  It was the first thing he’d checked for.

“I wouldn't de-mask you Spidey,” a voice said cheerfully. “That’s against the super-bro code!”

Peter blinked and looked up to see—Deadpool messing with a TV? “What are you doing?” he asked before looking back down at the controller in his lap.

“Well, we can’t play video games if the thing isn’t hooked up. Man, I remember when these fuckers only had three cords; one for the TV and two for the controllers.” 

What? Peter felt like he was missing part of the conversation. How had he gone from swinging between buildings, waiting for crime to interfere with, to sitting on a couch as Deadpool hooked up a gaming console? “Red cord to red outlet,” he said vaguely as he tried to figure out what happened.

A pause as the mercenary completely froze. “You sure?” he asked.

Peter rubbed the back of his stinging skull. “Yeah; that’s why they’re color coded. Make them easier to hook up.”  He leaned forwards and stared blankly at the controller (not yet plugged in) in his lap. No matter how he tried to piece his fractured memory together, he still couldn't figure out how he went from web-slinging to waiting to play video games. Not on a Friday night, when crime was usually high. 

“Oh, fuck yeah!” said Deadpool excitedly. “That makes everything easier!” He stepped away from the console and turned to Peter with a grin. Peter wasn’t certain how he could see a grin through the mask, but he could see a grin. “Ready?” he asked before plugging in the controllers. “I’ve got Mario Cart, Resident Evil, some weird shit with Barbie on it.” Wade stared at the pink case for a moment. “Actually, Barbie kind of looks fun. What do you want to play?”

And suddenly the dots connected. “Deadpool, how did I get here?” Just in case he was wrong. Just in case he had a concussion had missed a huge chunk of time (it had happened before).

“I kidnapped you,” admitted Deadpool casually.

Peter closed his eyes. He really,  _really_ hoped he wasn’t going to have to fight the unkillable merc. “Why?” asked Peter.

“So we could play video games, duh,” said Deadpool cheerfully.

Wait. What? Deadpool kidnapped him—to play  _video_ games?  Peter rubbed his face through the mask. “Why didn’t you just ask?” he asked, confused.

“Because you would have said no,” said Deadpool casually as he loaded a game disk into the console.

Peter frowned. “Why,” he asked slowly as some kind of pop music  began to play, “do you think that?”

“Everyone says no,” Deadpool admitted as he slammed down on the couch next to Peter with a bounce. “Oh! Two character story mode! I didn’t know they did that!” He selected what looked like a blond Barbie, leaving character two with the options of brunette Barbie, raven Barbie, or redhead Barbie. Aside from the hair color, they all looked the same.

“Why do people say no?” he asked, not choosing a character.

“Everyone hates me,” said Deadpool cheerfully.

Peter swung his head to look at the mercenary. He seemed so happy, so casual—it was hard to believe. “Why do—Deadpool, do you think  _I_ hate you?” he asked.

Deadpool shrugged. “Of course. Everyone does.”

Deadpool was so convinced that people hated him, that he’d kidnapped someone just to play video games. Peter sighed, stood up, and turned off the console before turning around to face Deadpool. “I do not hate you,” he said firmly.

Somehow, the man looked confused through the fabric of his mask. “What? Of course you do.”

“No. Now,” Peter continued, “we’re going to set up a few ground rules. No kidnapping.”

“But—no one will play with me!” protested Deadpool, waving the controller so wildly the cord tugged the console off the shelf. Peter automatically caught it and carefully disconnected the wire so the console wasn’t in danger of being damaged.

“Kidnapping,” Peter continued, “is _not_ the way to start a relationship.” He crossed his arms. “Especially,” he added, “if you want to play _again_.” Deadpool looked down at the floor, body language dejected as Peter continued. “Now, _if_ you can keep from killing people,” he hadn’t been able to when rescuing the children, but Peter really couldn’t blame him there, “you can come along with me on patrol. And _if_ it’s a quiet night and there’s not much crime, we can come back here to play video games.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Anything but Barbie,” he added. He walked towards the window. Paused.

Deadpool was still on the couch. He hadn’t so much as twitched as Peter walked back up to him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“If I don’t move, don’t speak, you won’t hate me,” Deadpool said.

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in Peter’s chest. “Hey,” he said resting a gentle hand on Deadpool’s shoulder, “I’m not going to hate you because you move. And you’ve spoken to me before,” he pointed out. “You talking didn’t make me hate you.”

Deadpool looked up and somehow, even through the mask, Peter could see that he looked hopeful. “Really?” he asked. “You don’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Peter confirmed firmly. “And you can’t patrol with me if you’re curled up on your couch. Come on,” he said offering a hand. Deadpool looked at the hand for a long, silent moment moment before he tentatively took it.

A few incidents later Peter took the masked mercenary aside. “All right, good job not killing people,” he said, because he believed in positive reinforcement. “Now, let’s take a moment and talk about the maiming…”


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Angel have a heart to heart as Angel teaches dubious skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPh_Gi7PCqs
> 
> It's not a cute animal video, but it did remind of Kingdoms, so I thought I'd share with the people who also read that one. :) (Do not watch if you're afraid of spiders.)

“I just don’t understand it,” Ellie muttered. Behind her she could hear the tinkling bells of the thing strange, almost human thing that Angel had set up.

“Gently,” Angel said kindly.

“This is so _hard_!” protested Juby as the girl frowned at the thing.

It was about five and a half feet tall, the height of an average adult woman. It had two padded sticks for arms, a padded roll for a torso, and two poles for legs. The thing had been carefully dressed in old, threadbare clothes, and there were nine bells on the thing.  The thing was wearing a watch, bracelet, had a phone case in one pocket, a wallet in another, and two purple squares of cloth in pockets on its chest. 

“It’s impossible!” protested Juby.

Ellie noticed the sparks dancing at the ends of Juby’s fingers. “Juby, turn away now!” she ordered. The girl whirled and brought up her hands—just as something that looked oddly like fireworks burst from them to hit the wall behind them. No one knew what the walls around them were made of, but they didn’t even scratch.

The walls were white and curved inward until they came to distinct point, almost like the inside of giant Hershey’s kiss. They were smooth, almost slick to the touch. They also seemed to be indestructible. Angel had refused to test it. She told them that her level of destructive power could not be measured, and that their new base  had clearly survived the worst that New Amsterdam could throw at it.

Ellie tried not to be too smug about that. She was the one who’d found it. She’d argued and bullied the others until they’d gone to see it after Mr. Parker’s questions—and they all loved it. And, most importantly, it was  _safe_ .

It also seemed to be growing. She could have sworn that it was smaller when she first discovered it, but it seemed to get bigger the more people needed shelter in it. She tried not to think about that too hard.

“I can show you it’s possible,” Angel offered.

Ellie frowned. She just noticed that Angel never said words like, “let me show you how,” or “you’re doing it wrong.” Angel  _offered_ to show things, and if one of the children declined, she never pressed. Angel was just like them—and was nothing like them, at the same time. It was confusing.

“Please,” said Juby looking up with adoration filled eyes. Ellie would have interfered, would have reminded the girl that hero worship was wrong—but she felt something similar towards Angel. There was something about the older girl that was like Mr. Parker; they could trust her. 

They  _shouldn't_ . She was a stranger; an adult. She  _should_ be making all of them feel wary, guarded—but she didn’t.

Angel sauntered over to the thing, lifted her hand to brush her half-braid back, took another step and turned to show off the watch, phone case, and purple square. Not a single bell had so much as  _trembled_ . “It just takes practice,” she assured the child. “You should have seen me when I first started.” She smiled ruefully. “I ended up learning something completely different first.” She put the items back and then walked over to sit next Ellie as Juby approach the thing with determination once again. “You don’t understand what?” she asked softly.

Ellie looked at the ground, made of the same material as the walls.  Slowly, hesitantly, she told Angel about what happened with the X-Men. “And I—I just don’t understand why he did it,” she explained.

“That’s because most of the adults in your life are shit.” Ellie’s head whipped up, stunned, at the words coming from Angel’s mouth. The older girl almost never cussed, and _never_ used that tone of voice with the children.

“What do you mean?” asked Juby looking at Angel curiously.

Angel sighed and gestured for Juby to come closer as she turned in her seat to be facing the two of them. Her wings, usually held tight against her back, loosened and one wing wrapped around each child. “Adults,” Angel said firmly, “have a responsibility towards the young of their species.  The young are to protected, taught, and allowed to grow.”

Ellie stared at Angel. It was clear the older girl believed what she was saying, but… “But adults don’t get anything out of that,” she said with confusion. Everyone wanted something; it was a basic way of life. Except—except that Angel and Mr. Parker were different, and she didn’t know why.

“And they do, but it’s not something physical,” Angel. “It’s a—a feeling, kind of like warm satisfaction, that they’re doing the best that they can.”

Ellie ran a finger over the fluffy feathers in front of her. They were smooth, silky to the touch. “So, Mr. Parker gets a happy feeling when he helps?” she hazarded.

Angel sighed. “I rather expect,” she said sadly, “that his heart breaks because every time he helps one of you he thinks of how many more there are that he can’t help.”

Ellie pierced Angel with a fierce stare. “You sound like you  _know_ ,” she said. It was impossible, of course; Ellie knew every movement that Angel had made in the city, and the paths of Angel and Mr. Parker had never crossed.

And yet—yet there  _were_ times when Angel just seemed to  _know_ things, impossible things. When Ellie first brought her to the hide out, Angel had seemed to recognize the material it was made from. When Ellie had hesitantly said she thought it might be growing, Angel had said, “Of course it is.” Angel knew things that she couldn't possibly know.

Angel shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I—”

“Angel!” cried a voice. “Ellie!” Jono ran up to them and stopped, gasping.

Angel stood up and reached out to steady the child. Her wings, still wrapped around Ellie and Juby, didn’t move. “How big  _are_ your wings?” wondered Ellie.

Angel ignored her. “Breathe,” she ordered gently, one hand on Jono’s back. The boy obeyed, taking slow, deep breaths. “Now. What?”

“We heard them again,” Jono said. He pointed behind him. “They’re getting closer.”

Ellie’s skin began to crawl. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “It’s almost like they’re looking for us,” she said warily.

“They probably are,” said Angel with a frown. “What did you do?”

“Brought the tunnel down,” Jono said. “Made it look like an accident.”

“You didn’t catch any of them, did you?” asked Angel worriedly.

Jono shook his head. “I was careful.”

“Good.”

“I don’t understand,” complained Juby. Ellie, already having had this conversation, did.

“They’re still people,” Angel explained. “They’re just—controlled at the moment.”

Ellie snorted. She had  _seen_ them. They weren’t “just” controlled.

Angel shot the girl a wry smile. “All right,” she agreed. “They’re  _also_ controlled. And the controlled part can be fixed.”

“What about the rest of it?” asked Juby.

Angel shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said sadly. She turned to Jono. “How are the twins?” she asked.

Jono sighed. “Still in shock,” he said.

Ellie grimaced. She was, they all were, familiar with adults who were monsters. In the case of the twins though, their mother hadn’t started out that way.

Angel sighed and stretched her wings before tucking them back into place. “Right,” she said looking around. She started walking towards one of the entrances.

Ellie got up and followed as they made their way through the children and through the crops that were growing. (One of them could glow with something enough like sunlight it made the plants thrive. All of them were eating better now, because of him.) “I don’t see you sleeping much,” Ellie commented.

“I’m not.”

Ellie frowned. “That’s not good,” she said. “Everyone needs sleep.”

Angel shrugged. “I sleep when I crash,” she explained.

“That doesn’t work very well for Mr. Parker,” Ellie said tartly.

Angel laughed and gently rubbed Ellie’s head through her hat. “I’m off. Keep an eye out for—things.”

Ellie looked around. “I think it might be hiding us,” she confessed.

Angel nodded. “Entirely possible.” The older girl left and Ellie went to see if she could help the twins. After all, in here they were family.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade starts his rounds to explain what happened to Peter at Stark Industries.

Pepper sighed as she looked at Deadpool. “What  _now_ ?” she asked irritably. Her wanting Tony to treat the reformed mercenary better did not mean she  _liked_ him and wanted to spend time with him.

“Um, well,” said the man, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Deadpool,” she said warningly.

“I kidnapped Peter,” Deadpool blurted out.

Pepper stared at him in shock. Surely she could not have heard what she thought she heard. “You  _what_ ?” she asked as the door to the office opened and Tony came in. For once, that mere action did not get her attention; it was all focused on the masked madman in front of her. 

“I kidnapped Peter,” Deadpool repeated.

Tony sighed, startling Pepper into noticing his presence. “Why did you kidnap him?” he asked wearily. He was drinking a cup of coffee and he stared at the masked man with sleep-blurred eyes. 

“Someone wants him dead, and I’m keeping him safe.”

Pepper blinked. She felt like she had lost the entire conversation. “You wanted to keep him safe—so you kidnapped him?” she asked, confused.

Deadpool nodded. “I’m going around telling everybody,” he said. “I just started here, because he’s afraid Dr. Smashy is going to fire him.”

“Bruce?” asked Tony as he took another sip of the coffee. Pepper eyed the cup, wondering if someone had slipped tranquilizers in the drink. It wouldn't be first time coworkers decided to drug him for their peace of mind. Tony smiled. “Bruce,” he said firmly, “doesn’t have the authority to fire Peter.”

“Really?” asked Deadpool. “Awesome! And you’re not going to fire him either, are you?”

Tony was still smiling. Pepper was starting to get feel creeped out. “ _I_ don’t have the authority to fire him either,” Tony said cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “Pepper?”

“We’ll consider Peter on an official leave of absence until it is safe for him to return,” Pepper said stiffly. She wondered who she was going to have to yell at this time. She understood, none better, the desire to drug Tony, but it was still wrong.

“Good,” said Tony pleasantly. “Pepper’s not going to fire him. Bruce isn’t going to fire him. I’m not going to fire him. Now, get out of my Tower before I break my promise to your boyfriend and punt you out the window again.”

Deadpool looked at Tony with shock. Pepper wasn’t entirely certain how he emoted through the mask. “ You—know?” he asked, clearly confused. “How? I didn’t tell you.”

Laughter sprang from ducts as one of the panels was removed and a man who looked far too large to fit in them (not that it stopped him) dropped out into the room landing lightly on his feet. He grinned at Deadpool. “You should have seen it,” he said happily.

Pepper leveled a glare at Clint. She’d spoken to him about wandering the ducts. She’d pointed out the way that it created a security breach. The man did not seem to care. She would have to talk to Natasha about the best way to deal with him.

The arms went wide and Tony simply sipped more of his coffee as he watched the man describe how the lab assistant less than half Tony’s size had verbally torn into the man over the way they treated Deadpool. “It was great,” he finished.

Deadpool seemed—shocked. Pleased, but shocked all the same. “Really?” he asked.

The word seemed so childlike and lost that Pepper smiled at him. “Really,” she affirmed. “Peter likes you very much.”

Deadpool scuffed the floor with a boot. “Maybe he  _did_ ,” he muttered.

“Um-hmm,” said Tony as he took another sip of the coffee. “Have you talked to his aunt yet?” he asked cheerfully.

“No,” said Deadpool. He still seemed distracted.

“I suggest you do that next,” Tony said mildly. Deadpool saluted and then left.

“Isn’t Peter’s aunt the broad who broke your arm with a lamp?” asked Clint.

Tony smiled and saluted them with his coffee cup. “Oh, yeah,” he said cheerfully.  He turned and headed back to his office.

Pepper whirled on Clint. “Are you the one who spiked his coffee this time?” she demanded.

“Not me,” Clint said cheerfully. “But I can enjoy it.”

Pepper shook her head as she gathered up papers. “It is  _not_ okay to randomly drug people,” she muttered as she worked.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool continues his rounds to let people know about Peter.

Dealing with Stark had been—surprisingly easy.

[Yeah;  you’d think he’d kill the person keeping Peter from a lab, given that he’s paying us an  _obscene amount_ to get him in one. ]

{He didn’t even throw us out the window!}

Dealing with Jamison, from the Bugle, was also surprisingly easy. The elderly man furiously crunched candy as he glared at the red figure who had burst into his office in the middle of the workday. There were flecks of red candy decorating the silver and black mustache on his lip.

Beth had followed them in. “I’m sorry Mr. Jamison,” she said frantically. “I tried to stop him.”

“I can see that. Go. Do whatever you do. Close the door; this isn’t a public place!” 

[So he’s willing to be shut up in a room with a known insane murderer?]

“We haven’t killed anyone lately!” protested Wade.

The old man sighed. “Why are you here?” he asked. Wade enjoyed watching the man’s face turn into one of shock and astonishment as he explained.

“And since Weasel knew that Petey-pie was a reporter,” Wade finished, “I’m thinking the reason for the hit was that article he did on Runaways Unite.”

Jamison sighed and leaned back in his chair before running a hand through his hair. “It’s more than that,” he said. “Peter didn’t get credit for that article.” When Wade opened his mouth the man continued, “Oh, he got  _paid_ for it, don’t get me wrong. But Peter wanted anonymity, because he didn’t want anything to happen to his aunt.” The man shuddered. “Monster of a woman,” he muttered. “I’m sure she’d be fine.  Anyway,” he said stabbing the desk  with a finger , “the point is average Joe Schmo doesn’t know Peter wrote the article. If Runaways Unite is the reason he’s being targeted, how did they know?”

[He’s right.]

At no point during the time that he and Peter had been in the building had Peter been spotted. Deadpool had—but that would mean they were targeting Deadpool, not Peter. But—what had  _Peter_ done? He didn’t think anyone was going to put a hit out on him for his pictures of Spidey, especially since Spidey hadn’t been around for a while to take pictures  _of_ .

“You seem—protective of Peter,” the man said thoughtfully. Wade nodded and the man got up and sauntered to a window. “Look here.” Wade, still trying to figure out _who_ wanted his baby dead, got up and walked to the window with the man. There, on the sidewalk across from the office, lounged a group of five or six older teens.

{Are they wearing  _scarves_ as belts? That’s impractical!}

[Not just scarves.  _Red_ scarves. I think that’s important.]

“They come to the office whenever Peter’s supposed to be here and try to bully their way in if he’s in the building for more than twenty minutes. I have him fix the printing press of its latest paper jam until they leave.”

They were following his Petey-pie. “I think I need to have a chat with them,” Wade said as he turned.

Jamison snorted. “Don’t do it in front of the office. With Parker out of commission, we don’t have another photographer skilled enough to get pictures.”

“Noted.” He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that the teens weren’t there when he got out.

[Doesn’t matter. We can track them down again later. Now we have to see Norman.]

Oscorp was, surprisingly, easy to get into.  He showed up and instead of panicking the receptionist simply gave him a key to the elevator and explained that he’d need it to go all the way up to the penthouse.  She gave him a piece of paper with a four digit code on it and told him it was the pin to actually get back  _off_ the elevator once it got to the penthouse floor.

[This isn’t surprisingly easy. This is  _suspiciously_ easy.]

{Look! The carpet’s red!}

The carpet was indeed red. With gold trim. Wade wasn’t sure how he felt about this VIP treatment.  On the one hand, he could easily remember each time someone treated him well, and on the other—this was the man blackmailing Peter with his best friend’s life.

[They were kind enough to give us directions. Let’s follow them.]

{And  _then_ can we kill Norman?}

[No, because then Harry will die and Peter will be sad.]

Wade nodded. “And we don’t want Peter to be sad,” he said to the voices.

The e levator stopped and opened to let Wade into what looked like a swanky hotel room.

{Wow! We’ve killed people in rooms like this!}

[Not recently.]

White sounded disappointed, despite the fact that he’d been arguing against killing Norman.  Wade shook his head; his boxes just couldn't make up their minds. He understood.  _He_ wanted to kill Norman—and knew he  _couldn't_ . He couldn't imagine how his baby boy had felt all this time.

“Deadpool,” said Norman pleasantly. “Did you come about the contract?”

Norman did not  _look_ like an insane power-hungry megalomaniac. He looked like an average man, if a little on the thin side. Receding hairline, prominent cheekbones, three-piece suit. Actually, the suit didn’t even look like it fit properly, like it was made for a slightly larger man.

{What contract?}

Wade thought it was a good question, so he repeated it. Norman’s thin eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Why, I want to hire you. I’m having—competition problems, and I’m willing to pay you for your trouble.”

{The fucker!}

Wade merely grinned. “Oh, I don’t take those jobs anymore.”

The smile quickly dropped. “Then why are you here?” asked Norman coldly.

“Someone decided to put a job like that out on Petey-pie,” Wade said casually, “and I can’t let anyone hurt my boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend?” Norman’s eyes narrowed on Wade. “You’re dating _Peter_?”

[I don’t like that tone.]

“Yup,” said Wade happily. “Anyway, I’ve got him put away somewhere safe, but he’s worried about missing family stuff.”

“Family?” Norman had an odd look on his face. Almost like he was—touched? That didn’t make sense. “He called it family stuff?”

“Yup.” Wade watched the man warily.

Norman was grinning like a loon as he leaned against his desk. “Well, tell Peter that we understand, and hope he’s able to rejoin us soon.”

Wade gave him a salute. “Will do!” he said cheerfully. He turned to leave.

“Deadpool?” When the masked man turned to face Norman again he was met by a cold, calculating stare. “Any leads on who wants him dead?”

“Not yet,” said Wade, “but I’ll get there. I thought I’d let people know first, that he’s not going to be available for a while.”

Norman nodded. “Don’t forget to talk to his aunt,” he said. “And Deadpool?”

Halfway to the elevator Wade paused. “Yeah?” he asked.

“You may wish to wear a cup.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting between Norman and Olivia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short--but necessary.

Liv smiled dreamily as the clawed arm moved to grab the tomato on the counter. Reacting to a mental command it picked up the tomato, took it over to a cutting board, and held it in place so gently the skin didn’t even dent. Beautiful.

“Hello Norman,” she said conversationally as the other arm picked up the carving knife. Responding to another silent command, it began to slice the tomato.

Norman walked up behind her. “Liv,” he said politely as he watched the arms attached to her back slice the tomato. The slices were not uniform, but the fact that they followed the order of a  _thought_ was significant progress.

“What brings you to my lab?” she asked as the arms began to prepare a lettuce, tomato, and mustard sandwich. She didn’t see any reason they couldn't be fixing her lunch as part of their test; the new cook didn’t understand the word “vegan.”

“I have a mission for you. It will—take you outside the company,” Norman said slowly.

Live pushed up her glasses before she turned to look at him. “Oh?” she asked curiously as she looked at Norman. This wouldn't be the first time that he sent her on a mission; she could come across as harmless eccentric right up until the scalpel cut. Still, she usually got those missions later in the day, when people were heading home.

The man grimaced. “ Someone wants Peter dead.”

“What?” Liv stared at him in shock. She barely noticed that the arms were reacting to her by waving erratically and she quickly took the contraption off. “Who? Why? How do you know?”

At that last question Norman chuckled. “Apparently,” he explained, “someone approached Deadpool and tried to hire him to kill Peter, not knowing about his new ethics.”

For a moment Liv’s heart squeezed thinking that Peter might be dead—but no. Norman said someone  _wanted_ Peter dead, not that someone  _had gotten_ Peter killed. “What happened?” she asked instead.

“Deadpool,” Norman said as he leaned against her workbench, “came to tell me that he has kidnapped Peter.”

Liv stared. If Norman had been anyone else, she would have been certain that it was just a bad joke. But—Norman didn’t know  _how_ to joke. “He what?” she asked. “Why?”

Norman smiled. It was his calculating smile. “ To protect him. It would seem that he and Peter are  _dating_ .”

Live frowned. Peter was dating—Deadpool? The man was insane, and impossible to kill. “That’s—” She stopped. She realized why Norman was gloating. “I see.” The shadows around his eyes made him look positively demonic. “Ah. I don’t think you  can use Peter.”

“Not if he’s _dead_ ,” said Norman peevishly. “That’s why I want _you_ ,” he said gesturing to her, “to handle the situation.”

He wanted her to find out who wanted Peter dead and kill that person. She was more than willing to oblige. Peter was one of the few people that she actually  _liked_ , and she didn’t want him to die yet. “I see. Same terms as usual?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” She nodded and put up her project. “What are you going to do now?” she asked him.

“First,” Norman said firmly, “I’m going to have a chat with our little Quentin.”

She nodded. She would expect nothing less.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing--Aunt May.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--this AU's version of Aunt May isn't exactly typical. (In my defense, it wasn't until recently that Marvel stopped portraying her as a frail old woman a hair's breadth away from death.)

Wade wasn’t certain what he’d been expecting. After all, he’d been warned about Peter’s aunt by Stark  _and_ Norman.  He’d been prepared for screaming. Shouting. Getting attacked. These were normal attitudes when someone discovered  their practically son was kidnapped—weren’t they?

The woman, beaded fringe on her jean jacket clacking as she shook, was doubled over—with laughter. Every time she glanced at him, she started again.

[Rude. She’s laughing at us.]

{She’s not scared!}

Yellow was right. She  _wasn’t_ scared—and she knew exactly who Wade was.  Wade had arrived at the front door of the house (bearing flowers, because that’s what someone took to see a lady, especially the one who raised the love interest), and rung the doorbell of the tiny, two-story townhouse.  He heard someone moving around inside, but the door didn’t open. He frowned and rang again.

“The front door doesn’t work.” Wade had turned to see a woman, mid to late forties, standing behind him with her arms crossed. Her silver streaked brown hair (a shade lighter than Peter’s) tumbled down her back and she was wearing a paint smeared jean jacket with braided fringe. Her dark brown eyes assessed him carefully.

Wade was standing in full suit, not a single inch of him uncovered, and he still felt uncomfortably naked under that stare. “ Are you—May Parker?” A thin eyebrow arched at him. “Peter Parker’s aunt?”

“He’s not here,” she told him flatly.

[That’s obvious.]

{We’ve got him locked up in our tower!}

“I—uh, I know,” said Wade weakly. He held out the flowers. “I brought you flowers.”

She looked him up and down again. “You must be Wade,” she said flatly. “Peter’s told me about you.”  She reached out for the flowers and he numbly handed them to her.

“He has?” Wade asked as she took the bouquet.

She raised her eyebrow at him again. “Do you honestly think,” she asked, “that my Peter would date someone and not let his dear aunt know?” She snorted. “ _He_ said that he was waiting for you to be more comfortable before the two of you came to see me. Well, come in. The front door may be blocked, but the back door works just fine.” She turned and began to walk around the house.

Wade followed. When they were inside he was able to peer through the short hallway to the front door—and he blinked. It was blocked by what looked like a huge metal—squid? “What  _is_ that?” he asked in fascination.

“My latest piece,” May said flatly as she put the flowers in a vase. “I don’t like it very much, but the commission was generous enough.”

“You’re an artist?” asked Wade. He didn’t know that much about Peter’s aunt.

[We know she taught him first aid.]

“I’m a nurse who dabbles in art,” said the woman. She gestured Wade to a seat and brought him a glass of lemonade. She sat down in a chair across from him with her own glass. “There is nothing more cathartic than banging iron into shape after you’ve spent the night with a self-entitled man child who thinks his contact dermatitis is more important than the heavily pregnant woman who got hit with a baseball bat.” Her face fell for a moment. “Especially since we lost both of them,” she said sadly.

[Say something!]

“I’m sorry,” Wade offered.

She waved a hand at him. “First thing you learn in a job like this is that you can’t save everybody. For some poor souls, it is just their time.”  She took a sip of her lemonade before she pinned him with a frown. “I honestly expected to see Peter here with you,” she said. “He said he was going to introduce the two of us.”

[She’s never going to speak to us again.]

{She’s terrifying!}

Wade cleared his throat. “Well,” he said warily, “it’s like this.” He explained about the card and the kidnapping.

May’s eyes went wide. She set her drink on the table as she stared at him. When he mentioned his conclusion that he had to kidnap Peter, the corners of her lips began to twitch. “Let me see if I understand this,” she said, eyes sparkling.

{I don’t like where this is going.}

“You kidnapped Peter to—to protect him.” When Wade nodded she burst into laughter. She hugged her sides and nearly collapsed in half as laughs bellowed out of her thin body.

{How long is she going to keep laughing?}

[I think she’s almost done.]

May gasped as she collected herself, sitting up and brushing tears from her eyes. “Oh, I needed that. Trust me; one day in the future you’ll think back to this and you’ll laugh too,” she assured him. She took another sip of her lemonade and smiled at him. “I must say, I like you much better than Tony and Norman.”

[Why?]

Wade thought that was a good question, so he repeated it.

She snorted. “Tony,” she said darkly, “woke me up in the middle of the night to inform me the entire personnel for the first four floors of the Tower had been kidnapped to an alternate dimension, but don’t worry Mrs. Parker, everything will be fine. My team and I are working to find out what dimension they’re in.” She snorted. “Man didn’t know the first thing about my boy, and then told me not to worry. Does he still have the use of his right arm?”

{What?}

“Yeah,” said Wade thinking back to the last time he saw Tony.

“Pity. I could have done better, but that bodyguard of his stopped me. Then there was Norman.” She took another sip of her lemonade as frown battled for coverage on her face. “I knew what kind of scum he was back when Peter and Harry first started being friends, and he was the reason I didn’t want Peter to get too close to Harry—but you can’t fight friendship. And I thought, when he married Deanna, that he’d calm down.”

“He didn’t?” hazarded Wade.

“He might have,” she admitted, “if the marriage had lasted. It didn’t. And don’t think I didn’t know _exactly_ what he was about as he slunk around here talking about how a growing boy needed a man in his life to turn out right when Ben died.” She snorted. “He sung soprano for a _week_.”

{That explains why Norman warned us to wear a cup.}

[Doesn’t explain why he warned us at all.]

“I never would have let him _near_ Peter if the two boys hadn’t been friends,” seethed the woman as she held her lemonade. “I know _exactly_ why he kept his eye on the boy—and I warned Mary back when it happened, but _she_ thought I was overreacting!”

{…Are we supposed to know what’s going?}

[I don’t think so. I think she’s just venting.]

The woman took a deep breath and then a gulp of lemonade. “You’re not here to talk about that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“It’s fascinating though,” Wade informed her.

She chuckled. “Is it now?” she asked. She shook her head and looked at the man. “Now, back to pertinent subjects—how stocked is wherever you have Peter for food? I have to warn you, he can’t cook.” She grimaced. “The boy can make a slime that rolls through the house under its own power, but he can’t heat a can of soup.  How long have you left him alone?”

{Oh, shit!}

“I’m sorry, gotta go!” said Wade as he tumbled out of the house, the sound of laughter following him.

It didn’t occur to him until much later to realize that she made no comment about his costume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, she knows. That's why she finds it funny.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade runs into Ellie, who is not following the buddy system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--graphic hints of child abuse, nothing outright described. Read with caution.

“Hey! Kid!” Ellie warily turned. She was only slightly less wary at the identity of the person calling for her.

“Hey Wade,” she said cautiously as the costumed man bounded up towards her like an overgrown puppy.

Her first official day as a student at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters had begun with the renowned Jean Grey telling her all the reasons why Wade was dangerous; most of which Ellie had already known. He was insane—check. _Sane_ people didn’t talk to the voices in their heads. He was violent—check. Ellie had _seen_ that violence first hand as he severed one hand off of Juby’s father and carefully, meticulously broken every single bone in the other one before smashing everything with the heavy hilt of his gun.

But—Wade was “safe.” He was the only person that Mr. Parker had said that about. And honestly? Juby’s dad had _deserved_ it.

“Aw, isn’t that cute? All spikes and growls like a baby hedgehog!”

And there was that. Ellie rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?” she demanded.

He brightened. How the Hell he did that in a _mask_ , she had no clue. “Thanks for asking! Well, first—and also last—I want Petey-Pie to love me forever and ever!”

“Ugh! I don’t need to hear about your love life!”

“You asked!”

“Why are you talking to me? Instead of, you know, sucking face with your ‘Petey-Pie’?” she asked making finger quotations around the gross name.

“Ah! You’re so cute! Yeah, just wanted to let you know that Peter’s not going to be available for a while. I’ve kidnapped him.”

Ellie stared at the man, black eyes surrounding expressive whites in his red and black suit. “Kidnapped him,” she repeated.

“Why does everybody repeat that part?” groused Wade.

Ellie stuck her hands in her pockets so as not to give into the temptation to _smack_ him. No matter how “safe” he was, she didn’t think he’d hold back if she did anything that seemed like attacking him. “Why did you kidnap your boyfriend Wade? Wouldn’t flowers have worked better?”

“Ooo! Kinky! No, I did it to protect him. Someone with lots of money wants him dead.”

Once again Ellie stared at him, this time in shock. “Who would want to _kill_ Mr. Parker?” she asked, confused. Sure, there were a lot of people that didn’t _like_ the man (mostly because of his kindness towards the street kids), but she couldn't think of anyone that wanted to _kill_ him.

“Don’t know.” Suddenly the man in front of her was very much _dangerous_ and _predator_. She fought the urge to run. Predators, especially the human kind, chased the ones that ran _first_. The man slightly relaxed and Ellie could breathe again. “But I _will_ find out. Just wanted to let you know that he’s not going to be available for your school thing.”

Ellie relaxed—slightly. She was always wary on the street, especially _these_ streets. The Snipers were roaming farther and farther from their stomping grounds. “S’okay,” she said casually. “They don’t actually expect to interact with him, at least not yet. And Wolverine said you’re lucky to have a boyfriend who doesn’t even hesitate to admit when asked about your relationship.”

“Aw! Squee! Petey-Pie told Wolvie we were dating? My heart might explode into a volcano of glitter!”

“Ew,” said Ellie as she mentally pictured it. She shook her head. “Go pour some of that glitter on your boyfriend dumbass, and leave us alone.”

“Ugh! Rude! I shall take myself elsewhere.” Wade threw out a hip dramatically and sashayed away.

Ellie stared after him for just a little too long. Her arm was grabbed and she whirled—to see a uniformed officer. “Ellen Phimister?” asked the officer, kindness on her face. “We’re here to take you home.”

Home. To— _that_. Ellie panicked and tried to break away—but the officer’s grip was like steel. “No, no no!” cried Ellie in blind terror as she was hauled, slowly but surely, towards the car. Where she’d be taken to the station. Where she’d be held. Where she’d be turned over—

“Angel!” she screamed in panic as she tried to break free. “Angel, help me!”

The thundering wings were like a godsend as Angel dropped to the ground in front of them, wings swooping out away from her body before being tucked in neatly against her back. Angel propped her fists on her waist and looked at the scene with pursed lips. “Well, _this_ is a conundrum.”

The officer released Ellie to grab her weapon and Ellie bolted. “What are you?” demanded the officer as she pointed the gun at Angel.

Angel shrugged. “Helpful. Friendly. Pointing out your prey has run away.”

Ellie, from her hiding spot, saw the officer glance to confirm Angel’s statement. “Ellen is a lost child whose family is looking for her,” the woman said.

Ellie bit deep into her wrist to keep from screaming. Family? They were _nothing_ like family.

Angel snorted. “Okay. Hold up. You have a child whose reaction to being told you’re taking her home is _bone deep terror_ , and that doesn’t throw up any warning flags at all for you?” When the officer said nothing Angel sighed. “And I thought your _reputation_ was bad,” the older girl muttered. “Do you even _have_ a child welfare department?”

“Of _course_ we do!” bristled the officer.

“And they’re the ones that cleared her home, are they?” drawled Angel.

Ellie couldn't bear to hear any more. What if the officer managed to change Angel’s mind, and Angel decided that Ellie needed to go back? No, Ellie need to go. Her place. A _safe_ place.

Her place, wedged between two buildings trapped in a constant state of renovation, may have been safe, but it wasn’t secret. Ellie didn’t know how long she’d huddled there, shivering in fear, before she heard the distinctive footsteps behind her. “Are you okay Ellie?” asked Angel, softly, gently. “Can I approach?”

“ _Do you mind being touched?”_

Ellie remembered every time the older girl had asked, how she always moved slowly, so Ellie could avoid her if she wanted even though Ellie knew she could move much, much quicker. “You know,” she gasped in horror. She curled in on herself. She didn’t want  _anyone_ to know.

Angel quietly dropped until she was level with Ellie. “I guessed,” she said softly. “Ellie,” she said, using the name for the first time since she learned it, “it wasn’t your fault.”

Ellie gasped and choked on a sob. “You don’t know that!” she hissed viciously.

“I do.” Ellie looked up through the tears streaming down her face at Angel. The older girl looked both ancient and impossibly young at the same time. “I always know. These days.” She held out a hand, reaching for—but not touching—Ellie.

Ellie was torn. She wanted to hide, to be safe. But—but she also wanted to be comforted as a dim, almost forgotten memory insisted she had once been. A sob wrenched from her throat as she threw herself into Angel’s arms and began to cry.

“There you are,” Angel said as she hugged the child back and wrapped both of them in her wings. “Let it all out. You’ll feel better.”

Even as she cried Ellie noticed that Angel didn’t say things like, “It’s okay,” or “you’re safe now.” Angel knew better. It wasn’t okay, it had never been okay, and it was possible that Ellie wouldn't live long enough for it to  _be_ okay. And while Ellie was safe right now (she’d seen Angel heal herself almost instantly after getting shot with a bullet), Angel wouldn't be around forever. Her existence in New Amsterdam was on a timer; Ellie had seen it with her own eyes.

When Ellie got hold of herself she was mortified. Mortified that she’d broken down. Mortified that someone had  _witnessed_ her breakdown. Mortified that she’d hogged all of Angel’s attention when it was possible that there were others out there who were being hunted by Snipers. And, most of all, she was mortified that Angel was right.

She did feel better. 


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter explores Wade's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, little bit of a gore warning here, for part of the apartment. More to explain Peter's actions later, I'll surround the section with *** for those who want to skip.

Peter wasn’t entirely certain how long Wade had been gone. He’d explored the apartment, which probably took up about half the floor. The re were odd gaps, as though Wade had inexpertly knocked out walls. Of course, knowing Wade, he probably  _had_ , but over all the apartment looked good. There was trash in the corners, but less than the last time that Wade and Spiderman had met for video games.

The kitchen was huge. Given the size and how the shiny counter tops didn’t quite fit the cabinets (too big in some places and too small in others), Peter had the feeling that they were new. And probably put in by Wade, since he only seemed to have a relative grasp on measuring things.  And the cupboards were slightly crooked—barely, not enough to send everything in them tumbling down onto the floor, but visible. The fridge was the only straight surface in the kitchen—and was packed full of fresh food.

Well, Peter had known that Wade could cook. The man was magic in the kitchen; taking random ingredients and creating masterpieces that made Peter’s heart and stomach sing. Maybe he could cook something? He pushed the thought to the back of his head as he continued to explore.

There were seven doors and one of them was clearly the door out, that was clocked and probably, knowing Wade, booby trapped. Peter didn’t feel like testing it; Wade didn’t exactly have a good handle on how much force an ordinary person could survive.  Peter absently rubbed the back of his head. It was a good thing he’d gotten a healing factor to go with his spider powers.

The first of the other six doors was, surprisingly—a laundry room. A top dryer and bottom washer unit designed to fit into a closet—and there were small piles of dust in the corners that indicated someone had tried to clean it up. Well, Peter was an expert at doing laundry. He could probably help Wade with some of his while he was there.

Peter closed the door and went to open the next one. It was locked. He stared at it. Why would Wade lock this door? There was probably something behind it, something he didn’t want Peter to see. Peter should respect his privacy.

He moved on to the next door and quickly slammed it shut as a mountain of weapons threatened to fall on him in an avalanche. He wasn’t able to prevent all of the weapons from escaping. On the floor in front of him were a few grenades (one painted pink, one accented with purple glitter, and one that had a Hello Kitty sticker on it), a random gun magazine that looked like someone had torn it open in with their bare hands, and what looked like a bouncy ball. Peter was afraid to touch it, so he left it in the middle of the floor before moving on.

***

The next room sent him to his knees. To be fair, it was more of a closet than a room, with a single chair in the middle and reinforced steel walls. There was blood, old blood, everywhere. The blood was almost like a coat of paint. After a moment spent panting and trying not to puke all over everything Peter took a deep breath and investigated a little more. There was dust on the chair.  _All_ of the blood was old, and had changed color. Whatever Wade had used this room for, he hadn’t done it in a long time. Peter closed the door.

***

Wait. If  _that_ door wasn’t locked—what was behind the locked door? Fortunately, after years of being locked in lockers, supply closets, and anywhere else Flash and his bullies decided to shove him, Peter had gotten pretty good at picking locks. He wasn’t an  _expert_ , not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was more than good enough to get through the door, to see what was on the other side.

It was a bathroom with an odd wallpaper, and surprisingly (given the rest of what Peter had seen) clean. Peter couldn’t figure out why Wade would lock  _this_ door—until he took a closer look at the wall paper. It wasn’t  _wall_ paper at all; Wade had literally covered the walls with pictures. Mostly newspaper pictures of Spiderman, including a few blurry ones from rival newspapers.  As he walked closer to the tub/toilet area the quality of the pictures got better—and the newest ones weren’t even of Spiderman. They had clearly been taken from CCTV, and the glossy prints shone over the most intimate parts of the bathroom—with several having been stuck on the mirror, obscuring it.

The pictures were of Peter. Peter in the lab, cutting test strips with Deadpool’s insanely sharp sword. Peter huddled in a corner, eating lunch. Peter looking like a mad scientist villain as he created the dancing slime for Wade in the middle of an empty lab. The picture of the sheepish look on his face when Dr. Chambers and Dr. Stacey walked in. Wade seemed particularly fond of that last one; there were four copies of it. 

Peter didn’t know what to feel as he looked around the bathroom. (Since it was large enough that one actually had to _walk_ to the tub area, it was huge compared to Peter’s own.) Part of him was flattered that Wade had made what was, essentially, a 3-D scrapbook of Spiderman and Peter. Part of him was horrified that he’d made it _in the bathroom_. Another part of him was just curious. Why _did_ Wade paper his bathroom with pictures?

He decided he didn’t want Wade to know he’d seen the contents of the room, so he locked it back as he left. He’d have to figure out a way to talk to Wade about it later, maybe find out why. Maybe get Wade to explain it. Time enough for that later.

His stomach rumbled. He should eat. He should probably fix something for Wade too, but what? The repertoire of food that Peter could reliably make was disgustingly limited. He could make a grilled cheese sandwich, but that wasn’t a  _meal_ by itself.

Soup. There were cans of soup in the cupboards. Even  _he_ couldn't screw up soup.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool and Daredevil do some sleuthing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but in my defense, Deadpool isn't exactly known for his ability to focus.

Daredevil stood broodingly on the roof, like a living gargoyle protecting his small corner of the city from those who would prey on it. Head bowed slightly to allow his ears to hear even the slightest of wrong-doing in the city beneath him.

“Yoo-hoo! Double D!” called Wade as he tumbled into place on the roof next to the masked vigilante. “How are you—urk!”

One of Daredevil’s hands closed around Wade’s throat. “Deadpool,” he said stoically.

Deadpool pushed him away and he allowed it to happen. “Man,” said Wade. “What’s with the grabby-grabby?”

{Rude. We should shoot him.}

[We’re not going to shoot him. We came for his help, remember?]

{If you’d just let us  _kill_ the bastard—}

Daredevil sighed. “What do you want?” he demanded tersely.

“Oh. I see. Brooding and morose. Well, I didn’t come—heh heh—to talk to the masked Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, I came to talk to the Badass Blind Lawyer.”

“A lawyer.” Wade was certain that if Daredevil’s mask was emotive—or had, you know, _eyes—_ the man would be rolling them. “Why do you need a lawyer?”

“It’s not for me!” protested Wade. “It’s for my boyfriend! Well, I think he’s still my boyfriend? He hasn’t broken up with me yet, and he needs a lawyer.” Wade paused. “And, uh, I’d appreciate it if you could pretend to be taking the case pro bono. I’ll pay you,” Wade added quickly, “but he gets a little—finicky about that sort of thing.”

“You—have a boyfriend.”

“Aw, and he’s the sweetest thing!”

[He might not  _still_ be your boyfriend. You  _did_ kidnap him.]

“I had to! He would die otherwise!”

“Is that what you need a lawyer for?” asked Daredevil. 

{ Please. As if we’d need help with that.}

[Given that  _your_ plan was to kidnap the hot boyfriend who  _loved_ us, yeah. We need help.]

“I can hear your curiosity,” taunted Wade in a sing-song voice. “But no. We’ve got it covered.”

[We do  _not_ , you costumed ass!]

“So what do you—your boyfriend, need a lawyer for?”

“I think his landlord is pulling some shady, and I mean super shady, Shady Pines, shit with his lease.”

“That’s—surprisingly appropriate,” said Daredevil slowly. “I’ll look into it tomorrow.”

“Thanks, mi amigo!”

“Now go away. I have things to take care of.”

“Things? What things? Maybe I can help?”

[Maybe you can make it worse.]

“You don’t know that! Neither of us know what’s going on yet!”

Daredevil sighed. “ This gang is having a meeting with a new player. I need to see,” the vigilante continued over Deadpool’s giggles, “if it’s something I’m going to have to interfere with.”

“Well, give me the down-lo on the low-down, and maybe I can help.”

“Can you _shut up_?” demanded Daredevil. He took a deep, slow breath.

{Wonder if that helps him calm down?}

“Deadpool,” said Daredevil slowly, carefully. “I need to go in _stealthy_. I _do not_ want them knowing I’m there.”

“No problem,” Wade drawled. “Let’s go.” Daredevil glared at him, but turned to lead the way.

[He’s probably realized that fighting you over this will be loud enough to alert the people he’s trying not to alert.]

{Be vewy vewy quiet. We’ah hunting Dahdevil.}

[Shut up!]

“Shut up!” hissed Daredevil, alerting Wade to the fact that he was humming the Ride of the Valkyries under his breath.

“Sorry,” hissed Wade as they snuck into the abandoned theatre. Well, abandoned by the officials, anyway. Judging from the clutter below, it seemed that squatters had moved in. Judging from the tagging on the walls, these were gangs.

[Odd. Why isn’t the outside of the building marked?]

That—was a good question. Wade watched carefully. There were several gang members lounging on what used to be a stage while even more hid in the shadows on either side of the stage.

{Look! They’re wearing the red scarves as belts!}

They were. Wade silently swung around Daredevil to get a better look. The one in the center of the stage was clearly the leader and even though he was lounging in an oversized beanbag chair, Wade could tell he was tense. They all were. Whoever this “other player” was, they were on edge.

Footsteps alerted Wade to the new arrival and he turned as a teen walked confidently towards the stage, huge wings tucked close to her back.

{Isn’t that the girl we raised in another reality?}

[You mean, ‘Isn’t that the girl  _Peter_ raised in another reality.’ I seriously doubt she’d still be alive if  _we_ raised her.]

The teen on the chair began a slow clap as she approached and she stopped just before the stage, still mostly shrouded in shadows. “If it isn’t our very own interferer,” the teen said as he heaved himself out of his chair. His hands shot into his pockets and Wade could see the handles of guns in them.

[She’ll be fine. Remember, she heals faster than we do.]

“Interferer?” drawled the girl. “That’s rich, considering what _you’ve_ been doing.”

What was she talking about?

[If you shut up and listen, we might find out.]

“Not something we’ve been able to do. And we didn’t attack your little sister again.”

{She has a little sister?}

The girl spread her arms wide. “They’re  _all_ my little brothers and sisters,” she said before settling her hands over her hips.

Wade was many things. He was flaky, he was insane, he didn’t have a good grasp (or any grasp, really) on social norms. But he knew a perfectly balanced fighting stance when he saw it.

[Maybe we  _did_ raise her.]

“Oh, they are? Then where were you when we started?”

“Not here; that’s for sure. You never would have gotten as far as you did.”

“Do you even know what we’re doing?”

“Do you?”

The banter was light, almost playful. The looks and body language were anything but. Wade stared, fascinated by the scene in front of him. The boy had the high ground (literally), but it was clear the girl was in charge. How had Daredevil put it? The girl was a player.

But—when had  _that_ happened? As far as he knew, she’d been in town for less than two weeks. How had she gotten mixed up in  _this_ mess, whatever it was?

“I know about the demon,” said the boy as he leaned forwards. Wade shifted. He recognized that tone of voice; it was the same one those religious freaks who’d tortured mutant kids had used. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“And it was tall, had eight legs, six eyes, and huge fangs,” replied the girl. She sounded—bored, of all things. “And you saw it transform right in front of your eyes, from a normal person you never would have looked twice at if you passed them in the street.”

[That was specific.]

The boy faltered and the girl nodded. “ Yeah; I’ve seen it all before. You’re not the first to be roped into this, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you  _are_ the last.” Even from the catwalks Wade could see the amber eyes glitter. “I have my own problems with  _that one_ .”

“Oh? And what about the seal?”

The girl scoffed and rolled her eyes. “There  _is_ no seal,” she told him firmly. “There never  _was_ a seal. You’re being used to create a horde of monstrous minions.”

“Better to walk at the Devil’s side than be in his way,” said the boy, recovering remarkably.

The girl sighed. “I adore how naive you are,” she told him. “I really do.” She paced a step forward. “Those things have been changed. Those things are being controlled by a power-hungry psychopath. Despite  _all_ of this—they still need to eat. What do you think they eat?” Another step forwards. “What do you think they’ll eat when  _that one_ no longer needs you?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with  _fire_ ,” he told her, voice shaking. She’d clearly said something that hit him hard—but he wasn’t willing to back down.

“Oh, are you referring to the ten armed people you have waiting in the wings? Yeah,” she continued as he broke out into a sweat, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re toddlers attacking a tank. It doesn’t matter how many of you there are, I’m a _tank_. You can’t hurt me.”

The boy, despite being on the stage and using the height to tower over the girl, took a step back. There was something in that flat tone of voice, something with that subtle hint of exasperation, that showed she was telling nothing but the truth.

“We can try,” the boy said as he pulled out a gun. He shot her.

Daredevil tensed and leaned for a jump down, but Wade stuck out a hand to stop him. He knew the girl would be all right. She had to be—even if she’d grown up in another version of his world, she was raised by him and she wouldn't have survived if a mere bullet could kill her.

The bullet hit the pink leotard, sank inwards—and then bounced back as the girl rounded back out to normal dimensions around where the bullet had been. “This is  _armor_ you idiot,” she said as she reached out and caught the bullet. She lined it up on the palm of one hand before flicking it with the other. The bullet grazed the cheek of the boy in front of her—exactly as it would have if she’d shot it from a gun. Impressive, considering it was flattened out of all recognition from the impact with her chest.

“Just to warn you,” the girl said, “I have _perfect_ aim. I didn’t _want_ to kill you.” She gently rubbed at her chest through the material of her leotard and grimaced. “That is changing quickly,” she muttered.

Wade drew himself up to his full height. “You can’t kill these kids!” he announced in his deep, Superhero TM voice before dropping down in full Superhero landing style.

“That,” commented the girl dryly as he stood up, “is _so_ bad for your knees.”

“I know, right?” said Wade. “But everyone does it!”

“To be fair, most superheroes don’t live long enough for the repeated damage to be an issue,” the girl responded.

“Eek! Dark humor; me likey!” He gave the girl a high five before clearing his throat and donning the voice again. “Spiderman will be pissed if you kill these children.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes and chanted the next part in time with him. “Because with great power comes great responsibility.” She dipped her head for a moment and then looked at Wade again. “ Yeah,” she said. “Heard that one a lot.”

He smirked. “I bet you have.” He turned to the boys who were staring at him. They all knew who Deadpool was, and they were hesitating to engage. 

“Remember Deadpool,” the girl said impishly, “Spiderman will be pissed if you kill these children.”

[Forget the children. Spiderman’s going to be pissed about Peter.]

{But Peter isn’t pissed!]

“Stay with witnesses,” the girl said grimly. “Hopefully, the army isn’t too big yet.” She turned, gently bumped her fist against Wade’s shoulder and started to walk out. She paused. “I didn’t make a mess in your turf Daredevil,” she said firmly with a wave to the vigilante before continuing out.

“Daredevil?” asked the boy.

The vigilante dropped behind the boy, landing almost silently on the stage. “Yes,” he hissed.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has an unplanned meeting with Director Fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kittens. Do a mind good. :)

Tony smiled gently as his hand stroked against the soft fur of the kitten while the mother looked up with adoring eyes. The kitten clumsily arched into his touches, tiny claws kneading away at the soft cover on the desk. The other kittens were sleeping, and  T ony let his mind drift.

He supposed he  _should_ feel guilty for the fact that Peter had been kidnapped by the mercenary that  _he’d_ hired to snoop on him—but he couldn't. Tony had just enough in the way of underground contacts (mostly via Natasha) to discover that Deadpool had been telling nothing but the truth; there was a price on Peter’s head. A moderately high one too. As much as Tony hated to admit it, Peter was probably better off with Deadpool who had the necessary connections to find out who had placed the hit than he’d be commuting between his own shabby apartment, the Tower, the Bugle, and Oscorp.

He’d been interested in Peter before the paper came across his desk, but it was different. Instead of wanting to elevate a keen mind, he’d been more interested in a ‘will-he-mind-if-I-date-his-aunt’ kind of way. Peter’s aunt was—intriguing. He’d never met anyone before who broke his arm. Well, not anyone who wasn’t actively trying to kill him.

The door to the office opened and Tony looked up to see  someone he really didn’t want to see. “Stark,” growled the one-eyed, imposing man in his office.

“Fury,” Tony said calmly. “Come in. Sit down. Pet a cat—it helps with stress. Especially this one,” he added with a gesture to the kitten claiming pets from Tony.

Fury ignored him. “ Where are you on your mission?” he demanded.

Tony continued to smile. “Haven’t you heard? Spiderman isn’t around anymore.” He held out both hands and the kitten paced towards the visitor, mewing for affection. Tony reached out and saved it from falling off the edge of the desk. “Seems he’s decided to hang up his mantle,” Tony continued as he began petting the kitten again.

“Spiderman does not have the personality to quit,” Fury said darkly.

A single hand gestured to the city outside the window. “And yet.” The kitten yawned and Tony gently shooed it into the basket where its mother rolled over so it could nurse before joining its siblings in slumber.

“Whether he has or whether he hasn’t,” Fury continued, “there’s a new player on the field.” He dropped a folder on Tony’s desk and Tony looked through it with curiosity. There were several blurry pictures of what seemed to be a young girl with wings on her back.

Tony closed the folder and slid it over the desk back towards Fury. “And why do I care?” he asked curiously.

“You care,” growled Fury, “because you owe us.”

Tony held up a finger. “I owed you  _once_ . You’ve already collected. You want to know more about this girl?” He nodded towards the folder. “You have your own people to investigate her.” He leaned back in his chair and yawned. “Is that it?” he asked. “Or do you want to talk contracts again?”

The side door to the office opened and Pepper stepped in. “Director Fury,” Pepper said calmly. “You’re not due until next week.”

“I needed a status update,” growled Fury without looking away from Tony.

Tony snorted. “Get this Pep,” he said, as if he was confiding in her. He could see the vein in Fury’s head begin to throb from where he was sitting. He always took a gleeful pleasure out of baiting the director. “He wants me to investigate a random teenager.”

Pepper frowned. “Does he now.” She turned the full force of her glare on the director and stalked towards him. “Does he know that there’s a company to run? That there are threats against your very life?” Fury began to back away. “That we discovered his little ‘pet’ planted so many bugs in the Tower that we almost called an exterminator?”

“You don’t want to get on my bad side,” Fury warned the woman.

Pepper glared up at him with no fear—not that she ever really showed any. “Funny,” she said dryly, “I was going to say the same thing. Good day to you, Director. Do  _not_ come here without an invitation or scheduled appointment again, or we will file a restraining order.”

“You think you can file an order against SHIELD?”

“I think we can,” she took a step forward and he backed away, “we will,” another step, “ _and_ enjoy the right to use lethal force if you violate said restraining order.” Tony couldn't see it from his angle, but he was more than familiar enough with Pepper to realize that she was smiling sweetly at the Director. “I wonder,” she purred, “what the general public will think to learn that Iron Man had to file a _restraining order_ on the most popular global agency?”

“We’ll talk again Stark,” promised Fury as he left.

“Tony,” said Pepper as she turned, “is there a reason we’re antagonizing one of the most powerful agencies on the globe?”

“There is,” Tony agreed mildly. He swiped his desk to bring up a classified file that Jarvis had pulled from SHIELD and sent it to her Starkpad with another swipe. He had the unique satisfaction of seeing both rage and shock battle for supremacy on her face while being secure in the knowledge that _he_ wasn’t the target—this time. “Our dear Director Fury is lying to us Pepper,” he said calmly as she quickly leafed through the document.

“Oh, my God,” she said in horror. She looked at Tony as she clutched the tablet to her chest. “What—what are we going to do?”

“Right now? Nothing. This isn’t a battle Pep,” Tony said firmly as he stood up and went to the window to survey the city. _His_ city. Not _their_ city, no matter what _they_ wanted. “This is a war,” he told her as he watched people hurrying out of the building to get to whatever lives they had outside of work. He turned back to his personal assistant. “And I,” he proclaimed grimly, “am going to _win_.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a meeting underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right; I know I usually make each POV its own chapter, but these are so close I decided to make them the same one, separated by stars.

The leader of the Snipers limped into the tunnels, ignoring the skittering around him as he made his way towards the designated point. Daredevil did not think he was worth killing. He was determined to make sure that was a mistake.

Shadows bloomed and shrunk as he passed, the noises continuing. The skittering turned into light scratching and there odd murmuring noises, almost like warped human speech. He ignored them all; he’d heard them before. They were no threat to him. He was protected. He knew it.

He limped into the round space, tunnels on either side of him, where the Great One was. The Great One sat on a cushioned crate and watched as he approached. There were shadows on either side of her, almost like the wings of a throne.

As always, he dropped to a kneel in front of the Great One. This overwhelming desire to submit had been his first clue that she spoke the truth. It was not his last.

The Great One watched from the shadowed depths of the throne silently. Looked over the injuries. Saw the blood. The skittering from the shadows—stopped. Almost as though someone had turned off a sound system. “Speak,” the Great One ordered.

He spoke. He told her about trying to get the girl to back off, to stop protecting the street children. He told her about Daredevil. About his ultimatum.

“ _You will stop these sick activities of yours and leave—or you won’t live long enough to regret it.”_

The Great One stood and stepped towards him. “You have been loyal,” she said.

He bowed his head. Of course he was loyal. Even if that girl was right, even if what she’d said about the Great One creating the demon he’d seen was true—that was even more reason to be loyal. More reason to be loyal. He didn’t want to _be_ one of those demons, after all.

Her hand gently caressed the back of his head and he resisted the urge to preen, sigh, or lean into the approving touch. “What is the name of this girl?” she asked.

He faltered. What _was_ the girl’s name? After thinking back he replied, “The street children call her Angel.”

“I suppose it’s possible one of them has the power to summon an angel like figure,” mused the Great One. “It wouldn't be the first time.” The hand gently gripped, lightly caressing the back of his neck. “You have been such a loyal human for me,” the Great One purred.

“It has been my honor.”

“Such a pity I don’t like humans.” A quick twist of the wrist and the now dead corpse fell to the ground.

 

***

 

Adriana stepped back and viewed the rapidly cooling corpse as she retired to her throne to think. Her creatures surged forwards as her power released them—all but one. She turned her head to look at the solitary spider, a wickedly beautiful thing with black and red skin and elegant almond shaped eyes. Each eye sparkled like a jewel, and this one was her favorite so far.

Too bad it also had to be the most stubborn of her creatures. She took a careful step towards it, sashaying in her heels. “Still fighting me?” she asked amused. “Or—are you fighting yourself now?” The thing keened, venom pooling from its fangs as it looked at the piece of meat the others were already devouring—but it didn’t move. It didn’t go towards the corpse as its instincts demanded. Adriana took another step towards it.

The lovely creature actually managed to force itself to back up. She was impressed; after being turned they all craved her touch, affection, and love. Yet, despite that, this one tried to stay away, almost as though it _knew_ what a monster it was.

Which was ridiculous. Once turned, her creatures had almost no will, no desire, no _understanding_. It was why they were pure, perfect, as opposed to the truly vile things they used to be. No, the only thing she could figure was that there were two warring sets of instincts in the creature.

She never should have taken a mother with children.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to cook dinner. It doesn't go well.

Peter read the directions for the soup, condensed tomato soup (because nothing went better with grilled cheese sandwiches than tomato soup). Dump in pot. Add one can water. Heat over medium-low until boiling. Remove from heat. Well, that sounded simple enough. After some rummaging Peter found the pots and followed the directions. While the soup was heating on a back burner, he pulled out a block of cheese (there were four different kinds of cheese, including two wheels, but Peter stuck with what he knew), some butter, and some bread. After a bit of hunting he found a knife. 

He stared at the knife for a moment and frowned as he remembered Wade washing the cheese grater at his apartment. He wasn’t sure why Wade had done that—but just to be safe, he washed the knife as well.  And the frying pan. And the spatula. He used a bleach solution (Wade had a  _lot_ of bleach bottles under his sink) on the spatula.

He grabbed the butter and tried to spread it on a bread slice. The bread tore around the butter instead of spreading. He tried again with the same result. Setting the bread slice aside (because he wasn’t one to throw away food), Peter turned to go see if there was any margarine in the fridge.

He had just enough time to realize that soup isn’t supposed to form a dome while cooking before it popped—spraying tomato soup  _everywhere_ . He was covered in it, the stove was covered in it, the ingredients on the counter were covered in it.  He stared at the mess in utter disbelief for a moment.

Of course, that was the exact moment the front door opened bringing in Wade and, of course, a guest. In a flash Wade abandoned his guest and ran towards Peter. “Baby Boy, are you all right?” he demanded worriedly as he fussed over the soup covered young man.

Peter blinked. His eyes were only tearing up because of the acidity of the soup. “The soup’s not even  _warm_ ,” he complained. He leveled a glare at the traitorous pot. It had to be the pot’s fault.  _Peter_ had followed the directions.

Wade quickly turned off the burners as he tucked Peter into his side with a single arm. “Petey-Pie, it’s okay. We’ll clean it up together.”

For a brief moment Peter was reminded of that one room, the one that was more of a closet, but then he forced his mind away. “I opened your ammo door,” he confessed. “I was afraid to touch the ball.”

“The what?” Wade leaned over and peered into the living room, spying the ball on the floor among the grenades that Peter also hadn’t touched. “Oh, good thing. That thing will explode if it’s not handled carefully.”

“Really?” asked Peter, color leaching from his face as he imagined the destruction he could have caused by sheer accident.

“Pfft. No,” said Wade as he chuckled. “If it was going to explode, I’d have set it off already. I’m not the most gentle person.”

Peter gently smacked Wade’s arm and then pulled him close, delivering a kiss to his masked cheek. “You  _are_ ,” he insisted firmly.

They were interrupted by the clearing of a throat from the doorway. “If you’re just going to flirt,” said the man.

“Right, right,” said Wade as he quickly ushered Peter—still covered in tomato soup, towards the door. “Petey, this is Matt Murdock. He’s a lawyer. I think. Hey, you are a real lawyer, right?”

Peter watched as a muscle twitched in the man’s jaw. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Murdock,” he said politely, ignoring the fact that his civilian persona was meeting with Daredevil’s civilian persona  _at the same time_ . Maybe it was a good thing that he was covered in soup. He looked at his boyfriend. “Wade, why did you bring a lawyer home?” he asked carefully. 

“Wade has informed me of your situation with your landlord,” Matt said, “and I agree with his assessment.”

“And what assessment was that?” asked Peter warily as he stared at his suddenly fidgeting boyfriend. He didn’t like the way that Wade was suddenly nervous.

“Aw, Baby Boy—your landlord is into some seriously shady shit. I mean,” the man continued hastily as Peter turned towards him with folded arms, “I went over to pay your rent and the guy tried to refuse when I explained what had happened and that he was planning to evict you which was why he had changed rent date and he did accept the rent, I even got a receipt to prove it, and I was telling Matty-kun here about it and help me out here!” Wade said nervously.

“Deadpool helped me home after I was almost caught in an explosion,” Matt said. “I wasn’t hurt, but I lost my cane. When he told me about your landlord, I had to agree that the man is pulling, as he puts it, ‘some shady shit’.” The blind lawyer smiled gently.

P eter gently leaned back and pressed a chaste kiss to Wade’s masked cheek. “I told you you’re a hero,” he murmured. Before Matt could think that he’d been forgotten, he turned back to the lawyer. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, ‘that pursuing legal action is—is a good idea,” he admitted.

Matt leaned against his cane and gave a low, thoughtful hum. “Tell me this; are you the only tenant in the building?”

“No, of course not,” Peter said puzzled.

“Then what is stopping your landlord from, say, pulling the same stunts on your neighbors?”

Peter’s mouth went dry as he thought about his neighbors. Most of them were geriatric and on fixed incomes that were only slightly better than what Peter himself had. “I—I don’t know,” he said as he tried to imagine the landlord sneering down at the little old lady across the hall who thought that Peter was an elf and kept leaving out bowls of milk for him (to the delight of the cats in the building).

“Don’t you believe they deserve protection as well?” asked the lawyer. He smiled. “That’s the kind of work my firm specializes in,” he added. “Now, let’s all sit down and tell me all about everything that happened with your landlord.”

“And I will order takeout. Matty, you good with Mexican?” Wade pulled a phone from one of his pouches. A phone that didn’t look like it was the right dimensions to even _fit_ in said pouch—but it was Wade.

“Let me wash the tomato soup off first,” Peter said. He glared once more at the traitorous pot on the stove before heading to the bedroom (which had its own bathroom/shower area).


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogation and negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. Been feeling under the weather lately.

Matt felt slightly ill at the description of the stuff Peter had put up with ( _you don’t understand, I signed with his mother and his mother was the sweetest, most wonderful person you could ever meet_ ) from his landlord. Things like his utilities suddenly being separate from his rent, when they were all included before. Things like calling for someone to fix his heater, being told if he wasn’t there to let the maintenance guy in it wouldn't get fixed, and then not _sending_ the maintenance guy for three days—when it was negative ten degrees Fahrenheit outside. Things like the electricity in his apartment being “randomly” cut off—shortly before it was time for him to pay his rent. Then this latest stunt—changing the date of rent collection with two day’s notice.

He was also surprised at Peter’s attitude about it. As far as he could tell, the young man thought the shitty behavior he was experiencing was just stuff that happened to him, and Matt would desperately like to know why he thought that way. He was also shocked that Peter—Peter _actually_ seemed to like and trust Deadpool. And Deadpool showed a side around Peter that Matt suspected no one else got to see; he was gentle and loving. And teasing, Matt recalled about the ball.

It was—odd, to say the least. Deadpool was explosion, noise and chaos. He was still those things around Peter but—they were softer, muted somehow. And Matt could not for the life of him figure out how the unassuming young man in front of him had possibly gotten that reaction out of _Deadpool_.

Matt could also tell that the feelings were mutual. Peter’s heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out when Deadpool touched him. Even when he was scolding Deadpool his heartbeat had that slow, loving pattern. He _relaxed_ around the murderous mercenary—and had even, at one point, called the man a hero. Which Deadpool, with a modesty that Matt couldn't quite credit even though he’d heard it with his own ears, had denied.

There was also something disturbingly familiar about the young man that Matt couldn't place, like a nostalgic taste on his tongue he couldn't quite recognize. He tried to set the sensation aside as he concentrated on the conversation and made mental notes even as he (with Peter’s permission) recorded it to go over it again later (with his law partner this time). He would bring the full force of the law down on the man—and if _that_ didn’t work, if he managed to squeak away through a legal loophole somehow, well—Daredevil could pay him a visit.

At the end of the conversation, Matt turned off the recording device (an old cassette player—not as convenient as digital, but harder to hack and, more importantly, had grooves on the different buttons in shapes designed to tell what those buttons were for) and put it in his bag. “Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Matt said, having learned the young man’s full name over the course of the gentle interrogation—and over the dinner where Wade flirted shamelessly with his boyfriend and his boyfriend clumsily flirted back.

The fact that Deadpool, the same manic man that had literally _blown himself up_ to take out a drug cartel dabbling in human trafficking, had a boyfriend that loved him was just a little mind-blowing. And a little thought provoking. One of the things that had happened when they were eating was Wade and Peter sitting, back to back, on the couch. After a moment Matt realized why—Wade didn’t want to show his skin (even Matt knew that the merc was sensitive about it)—and Peter _respected_ that. They were an oddly good match. An oddly endearing match.

Matt hoped to Hell that they managed to find and stop whomever put the hit out on Peter, because if anything happened to that young man Deadpool would raze the city to the ground.

After dinner Deadpool gave Peter a quick hug and and cuddle and said he was going to walk Matt home; make sure he got home safely. Matt _almost_ said something—until he realized that Deadpool was simply reinforcing the helpless persona that Matt wore as his civilian disguise. He didn’t believe that Deadpool was really going to walk him home—and was surprised when the guy stopped at a taco truck and ordered a huge amount of food.

“Did you not get enough to eat?” asked Matt.

“Of course I did,” Deadpool said as he went to pay the vendor—who waved it off.

“No payments from you, Senor Pool,” the man said with a heavy accent. “If not for you, who knows what happen to my sister, eh?”

“Just a masked madman doing my duty to protect the city!” Deadpool replied in the same voice he’d used before jumping off the catwalk above the gang.

They walked a little ways away, the smell of the food hanging around them before Matt made himself ask, “What is the food for?”

“A summoning spell,” said Deadpool.

Matt stopped walking. He could tell, from the tone of voice and steady heartbeat, that Deadpool was absolutely serious. “This I have got to see,” he said firmly. Deadpool started laughing and Matt half-heartedly smacked the merc with his cane. “Come on,” he said as he ducked into an alley and climbed up the side of the building—only to be overtaken by Wade who used a retractable grappling hook to get to the top. “All right,” said Matt when they were at the roof. “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” said Deadpool as the paper bag around the Mexican food crinkled several times. “I’m summoning!”

“You could try calling,” a dry voice announced behind them. Matt whirled, dropping into defensive stance. There were only two people that could come upon him unannounced like that—and both of them had tried to kill him. “Cute,” said the voice.

The feminine voice. The young, familiar feminine voice. Matt slowly pulled himself out of his stance as he listened for something from the girl’s direction. Then, realization dawned. “How’s Dora?” he asked as he (partially) relaxed.

“Ponyo!”

“Dora says ‘hi’,” the girl responded.

“I didn’t call, because you never gave me your name.”

“I didn’t?” A pause. “I didn’t. Well, I can’t, but I’m going by Angel for now.” Matt heard the rustle of wings. “What did you want me for, Deadpool?” There was the crinkling sound of the bag being opened and the familiar sounds of mastication as the girl began to eat.

“Can you cook?”

“Yeah, Dad and Papa made sure I could.” The sound of fingers being licked as something moved along the girl’s chest with an odd sound—like it was rasping over metal? “I can do pancakes, most Mexican and Italian—don’t ask me to do tamales, they never come out right for some reason, but yeah. I can cook.” More chewing noises.

“Great! I want you to watch over Peter!”

“That might be a good idea,” Matt admitted. “The young man made soup explode.”

A pause. “Really?” the girl asked. She sounded a cross between impressed and horrified.

“Really,” confirmed Deadpool.

“Huh.” More chewing. A swallow. Then, “I can do it, but it won’t be free.”

“I figured that. Whatcha need, Baby Girl?”

Matt, expecting a cash amount, was mildly surprised when the girl said, “A new sketchbook and colored pencils.”

“Right. One drawing pad and crayons.”

“Pencils.”

“What’s wrong with crayons?”

A rustle of feathers in what Matt assumed was the winged girl’s version of a shrug. “Nothing’s wrong with crayons. _I_ use pencils.”

“Deal.”

“Deal. So, what brings you out to this negotiation? Are you here to draw up an official contract?” The girl sounded curious, as opposed to offended.

Matt felt a slight chill. The girl knew he was a lawyer. How? He hadn’t told her what he did, he hadn’t had much of a conversation with her before at all. She was also, he knew from the theater incident, aware of Daredevil to the point that she even knew his turf of protection. He knew better than to ask, however. “Deadpool’s boyfriend has a landlord that is pulling some illegal stunts, and he’s hired me to fix it—legally,” he added as he calmly explained.

He sensed the girl nod. “Do you want me to read the contract to you?” she asked. “I speak legalese, one of my uncles made sure I could.”

“Why would your uncle make sure you could?” asked Matt with curiosity.

Both the girl and Deadpool burst out laughing. After a full, solid minute of laughter the girl gasped and sighed. “Oh! Tell you what,” and Matt could tell from the tone that she was grinning, “if you can guess who I am, I’ll tell you everything I know.” Deadpool, amazingly, managed to laugh harder and Matt heard his body hit the roof as he doubled over with mirth.

The girl simply took another bite of food, and began to chew.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's short. I wanted a quick check in with other plot points before swinging back to this.

Peter stared at the window. Sure, as someone from New Amsterdam (which was attacked by large monsters on such a regular basis that there was a civilian evacuation plan in effect), he had seen a lot of things. As Spiderman, he’d seen even more. Still, it wasn’t every day that a winged teenage girl hovered outside the window gently tapping on the glass.

After far too long staring at the person (who was asking politely for him to open the window, after all) he went over and opened the window. She latched onto it and swung her legs into the apartment. “Seriously? There are code inspectors all over the city writing citations for technicalities—how does this building not have a fire escape?

Peter smiled timidly at her. “Um, they were bribed?” he asked.

She snorted. “No shit,” she said before climbing into room. “Hey, I’m Angel, you’re Peter, Wade wants me here to keep you safe.” She looked at the tomato mess in the kitchen. “What happened here?” she asked with clear curiosity as she looked over the mess, one hand lightly on her hip. Peter stared as a pink— _something—_ popped its head out of the small bag nestled between her wings and made its crawly way up to her shoulder.

“Ponyo?” it asked in a thin, high pitched voice that made Peter recoil.

“Yeah, sure, knock yourself out. Just not us—you need to emit, you go to the window.”

“Ponyo!” It squeaked, bounced into the air—and then sped across the floor to the mess. The floor it passed over was insanely clean.

She turned in time to see Peter heading to the window. “Uh, yeah. Don’t close that yet. Trust me.”

“Wade sent you?”

“Yeah, he thinks you need protecting,” the girl said absently. “What happened in the kitchen?” she asked as the—the whatever it was created a clear, almost shiny path on the linoleum of the floor.

Peter stared at her as the words sunk in.  _“He thinks you need protecting.”_ Not, “You need to be protected,” or any variation. This girl, whoever she was,  _knew_ . No, she couldn't possibly know.

Mind reeling Peter replied, “I blew up a can of soup.” He shrunk back as she turned to look at him. Her amber eyes pinned him where he was. He could feel the weight of responsibility in her gaze. Or, as Aunt May would put it, she had an old soul hiding behind those eyes.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t look at him like he was crazy. She didn’t say that was impossible. Instead she simply tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, as though she was trying to see him from another angle. “What do you think cooking is?” she asked finally, the only emotion in her voice curiosity.

“What?” asked Peter, taken aback by her attitude.

“When you define ‘cooking’,” she said slowly, “to yourself, how do you define it?”

Peter was puzzled, but answered anyway even as he stared at the mostly clean kitchen. (It was cleaner than when he’d gotten to the apartment in the first place.) “Like magic.”

“Wrong.”

“What?” Peter’s attention was dragged back to the girl as the—the thing suddenly rolled to the window, hung itself using two tendrils, and farted before rolling back inside and back to the (now small) mess in the kitchen.

“Cooking,” the girl said firmly as she looked at Peter, “is organic chemistry you can eat.”

“What?” Peter asked again.

“Organic chemistry you can eat. Recipes are formulas, and the food that results are the predictable products.” She nodded. “Come on,” she said turning towards the kitchen. “You’ll cook with me as you keep that in mind. You’ll be amazed at how much easier cooking will feel.”

“I already ate?” Peter said. He eyed the window as her creature hung itself outside to fart again.

“That a question or an answer?” asked the girl. Peter turned to look at her as he pushed his glasses back up. She sighed. “Look, Wade wants you to still be here when he gets back and you and I both know that if the two of us seriously decided to throw down—”

Peter waited for her to make the expected remark that she could take him.

“—we’d destroy this entire apartment building and neither of us wants these tenants—who think that living in a building with no fire escape is a good idea and might actually be failing the Darwin Test—to be homeless and out on the street. It’s a mess out there.”

He stared at her. “You know,” he said flatly.

She rolled her eyes. “Of  _course_ I know. Look, let’s fix something to eat, sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter protested.

“I know, but you’re going to want something to do with your hands.”


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking in with another plot point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. Still feeling poorly.

Clint sighed as Fury paced the small room. He was leaning back in his chair, two legs off the ground, as the man glared at them with his one good eye. “Look,” Clint finally said when the man ran down, “I get that you’re worried about this new girl; I am. But all she’s done since she got here is protect street kids that, quite frankly, no one else _cares_ about. I say if she wants to waste time like that, let her.”

“Well, she also picked your pocket,” Natasha added slyly. Fury’s mouth tightened, but before he could start speaking again she continued.

“Wait.” The man, standing almost invisibly next to the wall, spoke up. “She picked _your_ pocket, Clint?”

“And why,” demanded Fury, “is _that_ important?”

The man never looked away from the younger man. “Clint here,” he reminded his boss, “was trained in the art of picking pockets. He’s also been given all the conventional training one of our operatives gets, plus more training with the rest of the Avengers. Tell me Clint; _how_ did she pick your pocket?”

Clint flushed red. “I didn’t…” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “She gave us a lift towards a building that had exploded.”

“She didn’t pick _my_ pocket,” Natasha added as she fidgeted with a pencil on the table. All three men found their eyes locked on that pencil. They’d once seen her castrate someone with one.

“There’s nothing _in_ your pockets!”

“There’s weapons. She didn’t even try. I don’t think she picked _your_ pocket until after you grabbed her ass.”

The man looked at Clint. “You groped her?” he demanded.

Clint snorted. “I was _trying_ ,” he emphasized, “to get a handle on that outfit she’s wearing. It’s metal, but it’s not anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“What do you mean?” Fury’s cold voice exploded in the small room.

“It’s not iron. It’s not vibranium. It’s not like chain mail—more like the metal was actually woven somehow to imitate fabric. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s not all,” Natasha said as she continued to fiddle with the pencil.

“What did you notice?” the man asked her curiously.

“She’s strong.”

“Strong,” snorted Clint. “We know strong,” he added, lightly mocking.

“Not like her.” Natasha’s eyes pierced him as she thought. “She picked both of us up, one in each arm. Now, I don’t know about Clint and how many hot dogs he’s been eating,” she added slyly, “but I’m about the same size. If she didn’t have those wings we’d probably weigh the same—and like me, it’s all muscle.” She nodded towards Clint, who, while not being a huge man, was easily larger than she was. “She picked us up and _took off_ straight into the air with a single beat of her wings, taking us up into the air half a mile, easy.”

The man gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That’s strong,” admitted Fury.

Natasha nodded as Clint gave a disbelieving snort. “That’s not all. She’s got a good healing factor too—that new guy, the one who throws bombs, threw one at her. She blocked it with a wing, the explosion carved a dent into it, and by the time she tucked it back behind her the wing was whole again.”

“I didn’t see that,” admitted Clint.

“You were a little busy,” she replied.

“Hmm. Yeah. And you can’t forget the slime.”

“Yes. Did you notice how she emphasized that the slime doesn’t explode? And the bomb didn’t even make her flinch. _We_ recoiled,” she said gesturing to herself and Clint. She frowned. “She also commented, as that masked madman was ranting, that she could kick all of our asses. I don’t think she was kidding, or exaggerating.”

“And you don’t think she’s a threat?” demanded Fury.

“Nope,” said Clint calmly.

“Not at all. She _could_ have done much worse. She could have gone on a destruction streak through the city—she didn’t. In fact, when we found her, she was just minding her own business.”

“Until _you_ sliced open her nest,” Clint prodded.

“Yes,” Natasha admitted calmly.

“Nest?” asked the man carefully.

“She’d made a nest of some kind of webbing,” Clint explained. “Tony sent us to investigate it, since we hadn’t seen Spiderman in a couple days.”

“I see,” Fury said.

“Our reports don’t say she’s using any kind of webbing now,” the man said thoughtfully.

Clint shrugged, clearly uninterested. “Maybe Spiderman made it for her before he vanished,” he suggested.

“Well. Thank you for your time, agents. We’ll keep you posted,” the man said as the two got up and left. He turned to Fury. “What do you think?”

The man scowled. “You know what I think. I think she’s from Experiment 23.”

“Not hostile though,” said the man thoughtfully.

“Not yet,” muttered Fury darkly.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a little clandestine meeting with Steve and Bucky.

“All right Tony,” grumbled Bucky as they stopped in a nook. The place had been designed for people who had gotten food from one of the ubiquitous food trucks to rest and eat. The level of turnover and the level of noise insured their conversation would be private—as private as it was possible to be in New Amsterdam. “What is this about?”

Tony handed the file to him. Telling Steve and Bucky about it had been Pepper’s idea. Or, to quote the formidable woman, “If you’re going to start a war with SHIELD, you need two of the strongest soldiers in our era on your side.” She had a point.

Bucky stared at the file without comprehension and leaned over so that Steve could view it to. He saw the blond man frown as he flipped through the pages. “Tony, what are we looking at?”

Tony sipped his coffee. His _Irish_ coffee—at least there were _some_ people who knew what coffee should taste like. “Codename Project 23. You see children—”

“Tony,” growled Bucky. Steve quieted him with a gentle hand on his arm and nodded for Tony to continue.

Tony nodded. “Children. That was the aim of Project 23,” he explained. “Way back when, before the second world war which both tore this world apart and created the awesomely amazing place we live in today, people figured out that traits are inherited. Good going, good work, and a shit ton of peas. Seriously; no wonder pea soup is so popular over there.”

“Tony,” Bucky growled again.

Steve, also known as Captain America and _way_ smarter than people generally believed, went pale. Well, pal _er_. The man was always on the pale side, no matter how much time he spent in the sun. “Oh, no,” he whispered.

Tony saluted Steve with his coffee before taking a sip and enjoying the harsh, alcoholic burn as it went down. “Ten points,” he said. “For the slow kid in the class, Project 23 experimented with genetics. Given the lack of advanced technology, lack of true understanding, and the general crude methods they crudely worked.” He took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t enough to clean his mouth of the bad taste from what he’d discovered.

Finally, _finally_ understanding dawned on Bucky who stared at the folder in horror. “We—we have children?” he asked.

Tony could only imagine what was going on in that poor man’s head. “No,” he said stomping the idea into the ground as forcefully as possible. “In the initial phase of Project 23, everything was crude, as I said. Basically they took random bits of material—hair, blood, bone matter, and in one case a full finger—ran it through a blender with a saline solution and injected into unborn babies that were close to term, surprising no one except the idiots who came up with this ‘brilliant’ idea when said unborn infants were still born and, in the case of the finger, the mother passed away too.”

Steve watched Tony. The two of them had fought side by side and against each other. They _knew_ each other in a way that mere friends, comrades, or even lovers simply couldn't. “You didn’t call us out here, where we weren’t likely to be overheard, because of a failed experiment from decades ago,” he said bluntly.

“No,” admitted Tony as he took another sip, draining his poor little coffee mug. He sighed and looked at the empty porcelain in mourning. Would it have killed them to make this coffee just a little bigger?

The next leap of logic was Bucky’s. Surprisingly, it was also the correct one. “HYDRA took over Project 23,” Bucky said.

Tony sighed. “Yes, they did. They were, unfortunately for all of us, much smarter than Hitler’s Merry Men. They took the project and just—sat on it, until the human genome project was completed.”

Bucky went completely still as Steve stared in shock. “I thought you said we don’t have kids,” Steve accused.

“ _You_ don’t.” Tony set his unfortunately empty cup aside. “SHIELD does.” He let that information sink in. “I want to get them out.”

He didn’t ask if they wanted to help. He didn’t ask if they understood what it meant to go against the greatest policing agency in the entire globe. From the looks on their faces, he knew they would. And so would Tony. So would Pepper. And, possibly, if Tony could find the man, so would Daredevil.

He wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed that Spiderman never learned of this, that they hadn’t been able to get a sample from him.

“What do you need from us?” asked Steve, staring at the billionaire with a steely gaze.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Peter make noodles and Angel talks about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a long chapter, and a bit dialogue heavy, but I needed to explain some things. :)

Peter watched as Angel repeatedly pulled the thick wad of dough until she had thin strips of noodles. “This is the easy part,” she told him as she methodically worked. “Just grab and pull. Grab and pull. Kind of meditative if you let it be.”

Peter looked hesitantly at the ball of dough in front of him before reaching for it.

“Flour your hands first; otherwise the dough will stick.”

“Right.” Copying her earlier movements he stuck his hands in the bowl of flour on the counter before picking up the ball.

“Ponyo?”

“You already ate,” Angel gently scolded the pink thing with huge blue eyes.

Peter pulled at the dough. It snapped. He glared at it.

Angel calmly looked over, dusted her hands with flour again, and rolled the dough ball a few times before pressing on it repeatedly before handing it back. “Try again,” she advised. He did; it pulled into a lumpy, rough mess. He looked over at the silky smooth ribbons she was producing and sighed.

“You’re really good at this,” Peter commented as he tried to follow the directions. He was just pulling dough into noodles—how hard could it be?

“I’ve had practice,” Angel replied. “A few—months, I think? Maybe a year? It’s hard to tell. Anyway, there was this time I was trapped in a hut with a blind old woman who thought I was a bear.” She saw the look on Peter’s face and said, “Seriously. Trust me, if you’d been there it would have made sense. You have no idea how hard that one was,” she grumbled. “Anyway, the two of us were snowed in, almost starving, and all there was to eat was flour, water from the melted snow, and six pounds of lard—don’t ask,” she advised. “I only made that mistake once.”

“What happened?” Peter tried to copy her movements, but the dough kept breaking so he’d push it together and roll it like he’d seen her do.

“Roll, then knead,” she advised. “She talked me through making the noodles and then made weird, uncomfortable comments about eating a bear—right before a bear burst through one of the walls. She killed the bear with her cane, talked me through butchering it, and we made soup with the bones and noodles. I told myself it tasted like chicken.”

“You must have been starving,” Peter admitted.

She shrugged and one of the wings flicked back behind her. “It was a long week, I have a high metabolism, and cold saps energy,” she said explained. There was something weary in her tone—the same weariness Peter frequently heard from the street kids.

Peter’s hands stopped moving as something occurred to him. “Wait—you _ate_ a bear and she thought _you_ were a bear…”

“You do _not_ want to finish that thought,” Angel advised him firmly. “Not if you want to eat again in the next three days,” she added.

Peter’s mind whirled. There were a lot of people who accused him of being overly naive, but he could tell when someone was lying. It was a skill he’d picked up out of necessity when dealing with Norman—and this girl wasn’t lying. “How did that _happen_?” he asked.

“You want the broad strokes or the fine detail?”

Peter, watching her craft a truly insane number of noodles, wasn’t sure he could handle the fine details. “Broad strokes, please.”

She snorted. “Stuff happens and life sucks.”

“Sums up everything,” Peter admitted as he glared at his noodles. They didn’t look like noodles at all; they looked like funky bread sticks. “A little more detail, please,” he asked.

Suddenly the girl grinned at him. “You look just like Papa with that look on your face,” she told him. She pulled a knife from the block and with a quick cut her noodles lost their connections before she began to lay the noodles out on a cookie sheet.

“You use a knife really well,” Peter commented as she grabbed his noodles and did the same thing.

She snorted. “Of _course_ I do,” she said with wry amusement. “These are pretty good,” she said pointing to his noodles. “You should have seen my first try. All right, let’s go sit down and I’ll explain as best as I can.” The creature that had arrived with the girl raced up to her and she laughed. “All right, Dora,” she said affectionately. “Time for cuddles.”

“Ponyo!” squeaked the happy thing.

“What is it?” asked Peter as he stared at the thing while washing his hands. He noticed that it seemed to be eating the flour off of the girl’s suit and he wondered if she noticed.

“Dora. She’s a slime. She used to be highly volatile with a half-ton blast.” Peter stared at the pink blob in the girl’s lap. “Not anymore,” she rushes to assure him. “Papa and one of my uncles fixed it.” She lovingly ran a hand over the top of the slime as it clung and released the skin with a muffled gloop.

“Pon-yo!” the slime chirped, and Angel laughed.

“Ponyo,” Peter said weakly.

The two clear blue eyes turned on him, wavering slightly as the entire pink thing jiggled before it jumped into the air and raced across the floor towards him. “Ponyo?” it asked as it bounced on the floor.

“She wants to know if she can get in your lap.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” The slime squealed, jumped, and plopped down on his lap.

“She likes it when a palm is rubbed over her top,” Angel advised.

Well, Angel would know. Peter gently rubbed his palm over the top of the slime—which wasn’t slimy, exactly. Felt more like a thick mixture of cornstarch and water. The sensation as it shivered under his touch was odd, to say the least, and as he moved his hand it became sort of soft and silky. Strange. Nice, but strange. No wonder Angel had been petting it so much.

“Where to start,” mused Angel as she lounged on Wade’s recliner, wings lazily hanging over the back in a way that _looked_ uncomfortable to Peter, but she seemed fine with it. “All right, there are three starting points, and none of them seem connected, so bear with me.” Fingers tapped against the arm of the chair as she looked at Peter. “First of all, there are multiple worlds. You’re going to have to trust me on that. They’re—”

“Like Stephen Hawking’s last paper?” asked Peter excitedly.

Angel paused. “Yup,” she said after a moment. “Totally. Now, I’m from one of those worlds, and in that world, Loki—”

“The god of mischief and destruction?” asked Peter aghast.

She sighed. “This will go a lot faster,” she admonished gently, “if you stop interrupting me. Yes, Loki, God of Mischief.” She paused and glared, but he didn’t interrupt again so she continued. “In my world he has several children, but the one you need to know about is his daughter, Hel.”

“Now, Hel has her own realm, and _yes_ ,” she said anticipating Peter’s question, “it’s different from a parallel world. One of Hel’s jobs is to—to protect balance, I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peter He leaned forward and the slime in his lap made a noise like a sleepy giggle.

“Souls are made up of a mix of light and darkness; most of them have a relatively even mixture, changing as they grow and react to their environments. Some souls are almost pure darkness and some souls are almost pure light. In order to prevent the universe from descending into chaos when there’s too much light a dark soul is sent in the middle and when there’s too much darkness a light soul is sent.”

“Why would too much light be a bad thing?” asked Peter, confused. If he was understanding her correctly, “light” was the same as “good” and “dark” was “bad.”

He expected a blasé answer about the general importance of balance. Instead her somber amber eyes met his. “How do people grow?” she asked instead. “How do they learn, mature?”

“I—I don’t know,” admitted Peter.

“They face challenges. They overcome those challenges. When there is too much light,” her arms spread around her, “there are no challenges. The souls stagnate, become weak. Souls that are too weak are—well, I’m not sure,” she said with a frown. “Hel said that they get subsumed by the stronger souls in reincarnation, and that throws the balance between the living and the dead off. I’m not sure why. But I do know that souls that grow in too much darkness have the same problem, and since Hel is in charge of sending reincarnating souls, it is a problem she has deal with. To balance.”

“O—okay,” said Peter. He had no idea where Angel was going with this.

“Now I’m going to have to skip a bit. There were two competing programs in the city. Both of them had the same goal, to create new and more powerful mutants, but they went about these goals in very different ways. One of them kidnapped people and performed horrible, often disfiguring experiments to force recessed mutations to the surface.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew Deadpool’s file. “That sounds like—”

“Yeah.” Angel sighed and then continued. “I wasn’t there, but I hear it was just as brutal. The took kids instead of adults, on the theory they’d be easier to break. Now the second program had a very different approach. What they did was they took samples from known mutants, broke them down into genetic components, and then proceeded to inject those components into a growing fetus.”

The second method made questions swirl through Peter’s brain. “How did they get the samples?” he asked with vague horror.

“From blood. The heroes, anti-heroes, and superpowered villains of the city bled all over it and they had people everywhere to collect the blood and take it back to the lab.”

“But that would mean—”

“Contamination,” agreed Angel. “Until the mutations began to develop, it was impossible to tell what blood was even there. There was even,” she continued with an odd, wry smile, “a child who’d gotten the mutations of _two_ powerful mutants.” Her face fell. “There were failures, of course. And some that were just _deemed_ failures.”

The slime in Peter’s lap squeaked and raced across the floor towards Angel, bouncing in her lap repeatedly until the girl smiled and began to pet it. “Where did the fetuses come from?” Peter asked.

“They put out ads for ‘surrogate mothers’ that strongly implied they didn’t care if the woman in question was already pregnant. The women came, got free health care as long as they didn’t leave, and if they didn’t bond with the infants they took the money and left the infants behind.”

“And what about those that did bond?” asked Peter as one of Angel’s wings came up and cupped around herself and the slime in a gesture that was obviously reassuring to the girl.

“They took the infants and left. They all signed NDA’s before they even set foot in the facility, but the fastest way to get the attention of the heroes in a city full of them is for dead bodies to start showing up out of nowhere, so they avoided that.” She chuckled in wry amusement. “Actually, it wouldn't have _been_ discovered at all if they hadn’t decided to kidnap Spiderman.”

“They—what?”

She gave a small, sad smile as she stroked the slime in her lap who cooed at the attention. “They wanted a clean sample of blood. Before they could take it, Deadpool showed up.”

Peter gave a small smile of his own, thinking of his boyfriend. “Of course he did,” he said fondly.

“Yeah, it was bloody, the kids were rescued. Blah, blah, blah,” she said glossing over it. “Not important. What _is_ important is that I came from that program, and I have super healing abilities. Keep that in mind. Now, there was another child, from the other program, that I’ll call BB. No real names, because I can’t risk being found before I can find BB. BB had a—a _very_ unique ability. BB could turn humans into spider/human hybrids that could then be controlled—by BB. Very specific there; killed some people who tried to control them in—horrific ways.” The girl paled and the slime stretched until it could just touch the underside of her chin. “Anyway,” the girl interrupted herself as she ran her hand up and down the slime’s body, “she couldn't do it to very many people. She didn’t have the power. Then, three things happened. One, Tony, the insane inventor who I secretly think is trying to actually destroy everything, developed a purely mechanical portal that can travel between worlds. I don’t know why. Two, BB found out about the light souls—but not the dark ones. I have _no_ idea how that came about, but the long story short is that BB discovered how to harvest souls and steal their power to increase BB’s own. Three, the Time Stone was shattered and a piece of it lodged in BB, keeping the mutant ageless. And no,” Angel adds quickly, “I don’t know how that happened either. I kinda wasn’t around at the time—not important. What _is_ important is that BB was throwing the universe, multiverse, expanded parallels, whatever into chaos and Hel, Loki’s daughter and in charge of the balance, demanded that Tony either figure out a way to _fix it_ or she would _fix him_ , in the way that the pound fixes stray cats. And since the source of this problem, the Time Stone, was technically his charge in the first place—actually I think he has a method of putting the Stone back together again but needs all the shards to do that—Dr. Strange created a timed portal with his mystic arts that could connect to the shard buried in BB to make sure whomever used it would end up in the same general area as BB. Still following?”

“Yes,” Peter said as he nodded. Actually, the information was sinking into his brain to be turned over and examined at a later time, but he _would_ understand it.

“Now, it was hypothesized that the ‘jumping’—my term, not theirs—could be corrosive and generally bad to anyone actually doing it, so whomever left had to have one heck of a healing factor, and both Wolverine and Saber-tooth said no, we’re not doing that, while Wade _couldn't_ because, well.” She shifted in her seat, clearly embarrassed. “Anyhow, I was the last choice, but the only one and you know what? This whole multiverse thing is just plain _weird_. You wouldn't _believe_ some of the things I’ve seen. I’ve been drawing them to share when I get home.”

“So, you came here to look for BB?” clarified Peter.

“When I get BB, the next time the portal opens it will take me home,” Angel explained. “In the past,” she added, “BB has gotten tipped off about me too early and decided to run, which is why I’m being extra careful this time. This time, instead of chasing BB down, I’ve focused on finding the soul she’s looking for.”

“Have you found the soul yet?”

Amber eyes once again met Peter’s own. “Oh, yes,” said the girl firmly, with satisfaction.

Before Peter could reply to that the door to the apartment opened and Wade walked in. “Honey, I’m hooome!” he trilled. He proudly presented the girl with a notebook and a box of colored pencils. “Your payment,” he said dramatically.

She grinned and grabbed them, moving faster than she had at any point during the visit. “Thank you,” she said brightly before leaving.

Wade chuckled as he closed the door behind her turned to face Peter. “We need to talk,” Peter said firmly.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cuddles. There are cuddles. :)

[You did it now.]

{What? What did we do? Why is he mad?}

“Are you mad?” asked Wade.

“No,” said Peter. “Well,” the younger man admitted, “not yet.” Ignoring the way those words made Wade’s heart freeze Peter patted the couch beside him. “Please, come sit.”

Warily, ready to bolt if Peter made any move that said he wasn’t okay with Wade’s presence, the mercenary obeyed, gently sinking into the cushion next to Peter. Peter took one of Wade’s arms and gently began to rub his hands along it. “Wade,” he said slowly, “I don’t know how to tell you this—but I’m stronger than I look.”

“Uh—”

“I understand,” Peter said gently, “that you’re trying to protect me. I really do. And it’s sweet.” Peter leaned into Wade’s side and, at the initiated contact, Wade turned and wrapped the younger man in a hug that Peter snuggled into. Peter let go of Wade’s hand to lean up and gently put his hands to the bigger man’s cheeks. “I am not a wilting rose, Wade,” he said firmly making eye contact through the mask.

[Where is he going with this?]

“I want you to tell me everything about how cards are made and we’ll see if we can figure out who put a hit on me. Together,” Peter said firmly.

{We can’t tell him! He’ll hate us!}

Wade took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he said. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out like a plea.

Peter’s face softened and he shifted until he was halfway in Wade’s lap. “Hey,” he said gently, keeping his hands on Wade’s masked face. “Listen to me. I don’t hate you.”

“ _I don’t hate you.”_

Same words. Another time. Another person. Just as shocking. Wade’s grip tightened on Peter and he rested his head, Peter’s hands moving with him, on Peter’s. “Now,” he whispered.

Peter’s hands moved from his face to his neck as the smaller man hugged him back with surprising strength. “I know who you are,” Peter said softly. He chuckled, softly.

{He doesn’t sound mad.}

“You’re the guy who panics at alarms and launches swords into the speakers,” Peter said. “Swords that are really sharp by the way. You’re the guy who carries around massive jars of rainbow glitter and has no problem giving one of them up to make slime. Who went to the incinerator with me despite not liking incinerators. Who treats street children like real people. Who does his best, every day, to make this city a better place.” Peter tucked his head under Wade’s and nestled into the crook of the larger man’s neck. “I know who you are Wade,” he said firmly. “And I don’t hate you.”

Wade’s grip tightened as his throat did. Peter couldn’t know what those words, those mere  _words_ whether or not he meant them, meant for Wade. No one liked him. No one  _had_ liked him. The best he’d been able to hope for from his fellow humans was mere tolerance. And for a long time, that had been okay. After all, it was a lot easier to kill people if he hated them as much as they hated him. No problem.

The problem came in the form of a hero. A hero who didn’t accept that Deadpool was someone to be hated and feared. A hero that had no problems with taking a masked, known murderer out on patrol—very visible patrol—with him around New Amsterdam. 

Then, there was Peter. A person who also had no trouble being seen with Deadpool, with going out with Deadpool, and had even asked if they could date! And Wade was learning that, just maybe, the world didn’t hate him as much as he’d thought it did. Maybe, just maybe, there were people in it that he could agree with and be cordial to. Sure the world was full of scum. But there were people like Peter in it too—and Peter’s aunt May. That woman was terrifying—and right about the soup.  But—and more importantly—Peter’s aunt May, despite knowing that Wade had kidnapped her nephew—didn’t seem to hate Wade. She didn’t even seem to really  _dislike_ him and had, in fact, said that he was better than both Norman and Tony.

Perhaps—perhaps Peter  _wouldn't_ hate him, after knowing all the things he’d done.

[Perhaps we’d better gloss over those bits.]

{Yeah, uh, he’s not asking what  _we’ve_ done. Just how the cards work.}

So, Wade told Peter about the cards.  How each card represented the name of a person who was to be killed, the color of the card indicating how much the reward was, and how Weasel decided who got what card.

“Tell me about Weasel,” Peter said, not moving from his position on Wade’s lap.

_That_ Wade was all too ready to do. “He’s a bartender,  weapons dealer, and—”

“That’s what he _does_ ,” Peter interrupted gently. “Tell me about _him_.”

“Oh, he’s a paranoid fuck who tries not to get involved with his customers while still running everything like a wannabe mob boss,” Wade said cheerful now that they weren’t potentially talking about things that would make Peter hate _Wade_.

Even through the suit, Wade could feel Peter’s lips curl into a smile. “Paranoid, huh? Does he do a lot with computers?”

Wade suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t sure what would happen to their relationship if Little Wade decided to rise to the occasion.

{Good one!}

[No, that sucked.]

“What are you thinking, Baby Boy?” he asked.

“I’m thinking I might have a plan.”


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The officer is thinking about what Angel said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a little short. But I like to think it's a good chapter!
> 
> ...I hope?
> 
> Also: TRIGGER WARNING! No actual abuse depicted, but aftermath grimly stated!

Yuri frowned and tapped the desk to the side of her antiquated keyboard as she scowled at the slowly loading document on the screen in front of her.  All of the precinct’s computers were so far out of date it was laughable. The heavy monitor alone could probably be used as a blunt weapon—and, given the dents in it, might have been. She wouldn't put it past the penny-pinchers in accounting to give them computers and computer parts that had been taken from criminals no matter what kind of security breach that might cause.

“What are you doing?” Smitt, one of Yuri’s coworkers, asked as he sipped his coffee behind her.

“Something someone said got to me,” Yuri explained.

“ _You have a child whose reaction to being told you’re taking her home is_ bone deep terror _, and that doesn’t throw up any warning flags at all for you?”_

Smitt shook his head at her. “You know you shouldn't listen to what the criminals say. They’ll say anything.”

“Yeah,” said Yuri absently. Was the winged girl a criminal though? It wasn’t illegal to be a mutant, and all the girl had done was talk. True, she had helped the girl that Yuri _had_ been about to bring in get away, but she’d been very careful not to be threatening at all to Yuri herself.

The file loaded and Yuri stared at it before going through it. “No way,” she breathed as she looked at the long list of injuries the kid had had. Broken wrists, a fractured femur, cracked pelvis—why was this kid still with her family? Why wasn’t she in foster care?

Another thought filled Yuri with ice cold dread. How many of the street children were like this? “This is horrible,” Yuri whispered.

Smitt leaned down and looked at the screen and gave a low whistle. “Man,” he said callously, “I’d sure hate to be _that_ kid.”

“Why hasn’t she been put into foster care?” asked Yuri with a frown.

Smitt snorted. “How much room do you think is _in_ foster care?” he demanded. “She’s still getting food, she’s still going to school, she’s still getting clothes—she’s fine. Or, at least she _was_.” Smitt frowned and shook his head. “We really need to get her off the streets.”

Yuri stared at her coworker with shock and horror. If anyone had asked what she’d thought of her coworker and sometime partner, she would have said he was a weary cop but still a decent person. She was rapidly revising that opinion.

Smitt, staring at her, could see the thoughts flash across her face, and he snorted. “You’ll understand what I mean when you’ve been in the department long enough for the shine of your new to wear off,” he said confidently before he wandered off.

Yuri’s heart seized for a moment at the implication. None of the other officers did anything—because they didn’t think there was anything to be done. They felt it was just the way the world, no— _New Amsterdam—_ worked.

Resolve settled into Yuri’s gut and she turned back to her computer sending the document to the printer before searching for one of the other known street kids. She didn’t know what she was going to do with the information yet, but she was going to do _something_. She did know one thing for sure.

She hadn’t become a cop to ignore people who needed help.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Former fellow lab assistant Chloe has some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Sorry it's short; there wasn't really another chapter to tag it onto like I usually do.

Chloe sighed as she trudged home. Sure, she wasn’t _supposed_ to walk home alone—especially not at night. Stark had informed all of his employees that he was hiring a security company who’s sole duty was to make sure those who stayed after dark had escorts home. He told them he wanted to make sure that they all made it home safely and he was paying the new company more than enough to not only escort them all the way home, but also make sure they got back to work in the morning.

Chloe didn’t like the new security company. The looked less like the security she was used to and more like professional soldiers. She didn’t trust any of them to know where she lived, and wanted nothing to do with them.

Oh, she was tired. All of the labs had been working overtime, using up supplies at an unheard of pace, and none of the supply labs were keeping up very well with demand. She’d overhead Dr. Chambers saying that if the larger labs kept using up supplies at this rate they were going to have to outsource for supplies. His supervisor hadn’t been happy to hear that.

What were the big labs even _doing_? Part of Chloe wished she knew and the rest of her just wished they’d take a break. Like, what could be so life or death important that they had to throw the entire company into chaos to research?

She ignored the skittering she heard in the shadows as she cut through the alley to get to her building. There were rats all over New Amsterdam; they were nothing new. Nothing important.

Chloe stopped as the shadow suddenly loomed up in front of her and she stared, eyes wide in terror, at the thing that looked like a cross between a human and a spider. She swallowed hard and tried to back away, turned—and saw that another one was blocking her exit. The blank, unreadable faces stared at her as the things crept closer.

“S—stay away!” she cried out, stammering like Peter sometimes did. What _were_ these things? Why were they cornering her? It couldn't be for anything good.

She stared in horrified fascination as two thick fangs separated from the thing’s face, dripping clear fluid onto the pavement. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She stared in petrified horror.

There was a flash of red and suddenly the face in front of her split in half as the monster dropped to the ground. She whirled to try and follow to see a woman with long, flowing hair that looked black in the dim light wearing a bright red suit standing over the corpse of the other monster.

“No time to relax,” the woman said turning to Chloe. She reached out and grabbed the lab assistant’s wrist. “More are coming.”

The skittering was getting louder. Chloe nodded and tried, desperately, to keep up as the woman dragged her out of the alley and back into the main streets. She did her best to keep her trembling from interfering as she ran.

What were those things? Were—were they why the main labs were so busy? Why work had suddenly increased?

Was that the reason Stark had hired a new security team to make sure his employees got home and back in one piece?


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a plan to get information from Weasel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, techno babble alert warning. I asked a computer expert I know, and he said this is how it would be done. I tried to write it as faithfully as possible, but please cut me some slack if it's shown incorrectly. (It's hard writing a character who's also a computer genius.)
> 
> I got some more wonderfully awesome fanart by Erica45! Check it out! :)
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/heatherica45/art/Angel-Tank-809300022

Weasel stared at the boy (no way was the kid old enough to be in the bar) that Wade had brought in. Warning bells rang in Weasel’s head at the way Wade reacted to the kid. The way he protectively stood by him. The way he tenderly kept a hand on the boy at all times. The way the boy allowed the behavior without so much as a squeak.

Weasel’s eyes closed as he fought off the mental pain. With the way Wade was acting there was only one person the kid could be. The mysterious boyfriend that, apparently, really _was_ real. He took a deep breath and then glared at the two as the kid settled at the counter. “Do you even know where you are?” he hissed as quietly as possible, so as not to gain the attention of the people around them. The last thing he needed was for everyone to realize that a card had just walked in on his own two legs. True, that card was being guarded by _Deadpool_ , but that wouldn't stop the crazy ones.

The kid met his eyes with two calm—way too calm—brown ones. “I’m in the place where mercenaries get cards with target names on them,” he said, just as calmly.

Weasel’s glare moved from the kid—clearly too stupid to be afraid—to Wade. “Are you _insane_?” he hissed. “You just—just waltz in here with a card?”

Weasel could see the smile on Wade’s face through the mask as he shrugged. “Baby Boy insisted,” he said with glee.

Weasel turned his attention back to the kid. The kid who clearly had one of the most dangerous (and impossible to kill) people in the world wrapped around his little finger. The kid, who as of now, was calmly inspecting the bowl of salted nuts that Weasel kept on the counter for customers. “Why?” he asked.

“Wade’s having trouble finding the guy who put out the hit,” Peter confessed as he sorted through the different types of nuts.

Weasel wanted to bang his head on the counter. “I can’t tell you that,” he told them firmly.

“No,” said the kid thoughtfully. “You didn’t finish that sentence. You can’t tell me that _for free_.” Still freakishly calm.

Weasel eyed the kid’s attire. If it hadn’t come from a thrift store he’d eat Deadpool’s socks. “I don’t think you can afford my prices.”

The kid looked up and offered a slow, almost dreamy smile. “I was thinking,” he said, keeping his voice just as soft as Weasel had been, “of more of an exchange of services. According to Wade you’re a ‘paranoid fuck.’ I happen to have a little bit of—computer expertise.”

This demanded a reassessment. The kid wasn’t just here for some odd reason, something suicidal. The kid had a plan. An offer to barter. Normally Weasel would have just tossed him out anyway—but he was a little afraid that Wade would decide to wreck his bar if he did. “When you say that—”

“I mean I can hook you into the TOR network and build your system a self-contained VPN,” the kid said bluntly. He calmly popped a nut into his mouth and began to chew.

Weasel stared at the boy. Was it possible? No, no way a mere _kid_ could know how to do that. “I’m going to need some references,” he said gruffly as he began to polish one of the glasses.

“I’ve hacked into Stark Tower.” The glass Weasel was holding crashed to the floor, shattering as he stared. The boy grinned. “And,” he added impishly, “Stark doesn’t even know I was there.”

No. No way could the kid be telling the truth. But—maybe. Just maybe he had the skills he was boasting. Maybe.

“I see it working first,” he said.

The kid grinned. “Works for me,” he said.

Wade leaned around the kid eagerly. “Oh! I can—”

“ _You_ can tend the bar,” the kid interrupted. At Wade’s crestfallen face he pecked a kiss on a masked cheek, oblivious to the way it made Weasel’s skin crawl to see someone so—affectionate with the dangerous man. He knew better than anyone just how dangerous Wade could be.

Wade _whined_. He honest-to-God _whined_ like a _dog_. “But Petey-Pie,” he protested.

“Petey-Pie” just chuckled and warmly asked, “Weren’t you the one going on about how you could so do that _Coyote Ugly_ scene better?”

Wade brightened. “Fuck yeah!” he said excitedly. “Watch me tend this bitch!”

Peter pressed another kiss to the masked cheek before lightly hopping over the bar to stand next to Weasel, who, full of reservations, led the kid to the security room.


	69. Chapter 69

Wade picked up a glass. How hard could tending a bar be? Weasel did it all the time, and most of the time he just rubbed a glass with a towel. Wade could do that.

[I think the towel is supposed to _clean_ the glass.]

Eh, who cared about a few streaks in a glass? Wade was sure the alcohol would kill anything that might hurt anyone.

{Does it count as murder if germs do the killing?}

[I hate you.]

“What the fuck did you threaten that twink with?” demanded one of the guys as he swaggered up to the bar.

Another patron at the bar snorted. “Must be big. Kid acts like he _likes_ him.”

{Did we ever threaten Petey?}

[You mean aside from kidnapping him? No, we haven’t. And we’ve seen him _try_ to lie—the guy sucks. No way he’s acting.]

Odd for White to be reassuring, but Wade would roll with it. He grinned at the patrons and enjoyed the way they looked freaked out.

[You’re acting pleasant and not singing children’s songs. Of course they’re freaked.]

Wade remembered the movie he and Pete had been watching. “What can I get for you?” he asked.

They stared at him for a moment before the second one gave a low whistle. “Damn Wilson,” he said in awe. “You’ve been _whipped_.”

Wade batted his eyes at them. “Only in the best ways,” he assured them.

{Not yet.}

[No, because that would mean removing the mask.]

“So, what’ll it be?” asked Wade as he struck a pose. The glass he was holding hit the bar and broke. Eh, Weasel had plenty of glasses. He wouldn't notice one less. Wade threw the glass into the garbage and then grinned at the two idiots at the bar.

{Don’t make a scene! Petey’s counting on us!}

Seeing the almost homicidal look on Wade’s face the first man quickly said, “Bottle of Beer. Sealed,” he added. “I can open it myself.”

Wade rummaged around under the bar finding the screens for the security systems, the shotgun, the shotgun shells labeled _rock salt, lead,_ and _vibranium_. He paused. Why did Weasel have vibranium for his shotgun? That didn’t make sense. Ah, _this_ was a little fridge. He opened it and found—beer. Bottles of beer in every color from pale pink to dark brown. “You got a color preference?” asked Wade as he stared at the bottles. Just what was the point of all these different colors? Did they change the taste of the brew in them.

“Nah, I ain’t picky.”

“Hey Wilson, get me one too,” called the second one.

“Sure!” Wade said happily as he grabbed a pale pink bottle and a dark blue blue bottle before standing up and closing the fridge door. Couldn’t waste electricity!

“What the fuck is this shit?” demanded the first merc as he stared at the pale pink bottle on the bar in front of him.

“I’ve never even _seen_ this color before,” the other one said in wonder as he held the blue bottle up to the light.

“There’s a whole rainbow in this fridge,” Wade said as he leaned against the bar. He waited while the two warily cracked open their beers and took a sip. “And…?”

They spit out at the same time. “The fuck?” exclaimed the one with the pink bottle. “This shit is rose flavored!”

“Ooo,” cooed one of the ever-present hookers as she snagged the bottle. “Mine.”

The second one, seeing what had happened to the first, turned to the assembled ladies and held up his bottle. “I’ll trade a blueberry flavored beer for a kiss,” he called out.

First one snorted. “Only kiss you’ll ever get.”

“Hey! Not like I’m _him_!” A thumb jerked towards Wade. “I don’t have to pay some pretty-boy twink to pretend to like me!”

[Did he just call Peter a prostitute?]

{KILL HIM!}

Wade leaped over the bar, wrapping his hands around the merc’s throat as the other people in the bar began chanting and cheering. The man tried to buck him off so that he could breathe—but breathing wasn’t in the list of plans that Wade had for the man. “Say that again, I dare you,” he taunted as he squeezed the throat under his hands.

“Wade, what the fuck?” screamed Weasel, adding his voice as a counterpoint to the people chanting for him to do it, do it, just kill the fucker already.

“Wade?” A gentle hand with far more weight to it than it should have landed on Wade’s shoulder and he looked up into Peter’s concerned face.

“Oh, uh,” Wade said as he released the throat under him. “We were just having a manly discussion,” he said to his boyfriend—who crossed his arms in disbelief. Wade rounded on the man under him, still holding his throat and gasping for air. “Weren’t we?” he demanded darkly. The man quickly nodded as fast as his bruised throat would allow.

Peter sighed and reached out, pulling Wade off the merc.

[Did we know he was this strong?]

{Oh, my God! He still likes us!}

“Come on Triple,” Peter urged gently as he tucked himself against Wade’s side. “Let’s go home,” he urged.

“Freak,” muttered the merc on the ground. Wade didn’t hear him. And he certainly didn’t see Petey-pie step back and kick the guy—ahem, _accidentally_ hit the guy in the ribs with the back of his foot before gently guiding Wade out of the bar.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking in with a villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next few are on the dark side. Sorry about that. After that though, we get back into fluff, so hold tight and keep reading! (I hope you're all still with me after this.)

Liv calmly pushed up her glasses as she read the document in front of her, ignoring the choking sounds coming from her left. “Oh, you _have_ been a naughty girl,” she gently scolded. “Kidnapping, extortion, human trafficking?” Liv shook her head. “What horrible things you’ve done.” She turned her head to look at the trembling woman, held by one of the thin, mechanical tentacles at her neck just far enough into the air that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to keep breathing.

Another tentacle was plugged into the woman’s computer, quickly downloading all relevant information from the files. Imperative, since the place was about to be torched. A third tentacle (she really was going to need to thank Peter for helping her with those algorithms) searched the bookshelves behind the desk she was on while the fourth lay against the floor, stabilizing her precarious perch.

The woman being held was none other than Whitney Frost, the face and leader of Runaways Unite. “My boss,” Liv continued as her third tentacle deposited a veritable hoard of mini microphones, tiny cameras, and other bugging devices on the desk before searching for more as Liv calmly set about breaking each and every one of them. “My boss,” she continued, “is, despite his image, a very simple man. Very goal oriented; he will do everything in his power to reach his goals—even if it means stepping over his own flesh and blood.” Her eyebrow raised as she noticed her third tentacle deposit another small mountain of bugging devices. Someone was trying to keep a close eye on this woman—but not close enough.

The woman tried to speak and Liv graciously lowered her to the ground so that she could. The woman swallowed a couple of times and desperately said, “I can get him children; all the children he wants.”

The third tentacle destroyed the newest pile as the first pulled the woman up too far to speak again. “Do you honestly,” Liv asked with disbelief, “think that I’m here because of a few paltry little street children the city can’t be bothered to clean up?” She snorted at the stunned look on the woman’s face. “Seriously?” she asked the world at large. “Why am I always stuck with the idiots?”

Her tentacle slammed the woman against the wall while her third tentacle reported the lack of any more surveillance devices and the second tentacle disengaged from the computer. “Norman,” she said, confident in dropping his name now that there was no way anyone could hear it, “does not care about the children. He barely cares about his own children. No,” Liv continued as she adjusted her glasses and regarded her prisoner thoughtfully, “he only cares about his _goals_. And you, foolish idiot that you are, decided to threaten them.”

Liv shook her head in mock regret as she tsked at the woman in front of her. “You never should have put that hit out on Peter Parker.” The woman’s face suffused with rage, but Liv didn’t care. “You see,” she continued conversationally, “that boy is important. His life is worth the sacrifice of a few, or even a dozen. Yours, however,” she added pinning the woman with a stare, “is not.”

Liv tapped her cheek thoughtfully as a tentacle wrapped up the woman’s arms and another got her legs while the first never released the hold on her throat. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I hear that when the Kingpin still did his own dirty work, he liked to rip his victims in half.” Her eyes fell on the now clearly terrified woman in front of her. “I wonder how much force that actually takes and if my lovelies,” she added with a caress to the metal, “are up for the stress. Which will give out first; my tentacles or your body?”

The answer was, unsurprisingly, the human body in front of her. Liv let the destroyed corpse fall to the floor as she set about creating an electrical fire that would incinerate the body—or at least burn it out of all recognition. She didn’t care which.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so one of my cats, Asia, has learned to do this weird noise that is like a cross between a chirp and a purr, almost like she's singing. I love this sound. I will pet her for over an hour to hear it. Asia, smart little you-know-what that she is, has figured this out and dispenses these noises JUST enough that I keep petting her, attention whore that she is. And if I stop before she's done? She pees on my clothes. I've been doing a lot of laundry tonight.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is on patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, trigger warning. Person number two isn't as insane as she sounds (which the reader should know), but I do not, under any circumstances, condone suicide. This is strictly plot related and not wish fulfillment. In fact:
> 
> 1-800-273-8255
> 
> US suicide hotline, folks. You can also text (thank you AngelaLives for telling me) "HOME" to 741-741, this is for suicide, depression, anxiety, panic, or any other reason you might be in crisis. Mental health is important, take care of it as best as you can. Okay?
> 
> On with the chapter.

Wade ran across a roof, leaped into the air, and tried to hook another roof with his grappling hook in order to swing like Spiderman did. The hook landed wrong and fell off the building, fortunately catching on the fire escape instead making the merc attached land, face-first, into the brick of the building. Wade pushed himself away from the brick and, after a quick glance to see that no one could see him, lifted his mask to spit blood out of his mouth. “That could’ve gone better,” he grunted.

[I’m beginning to think the author hates us.]

{No! Oh, look! Something plot related.}

[This was a stupid way for us to find it.]

“No argument there,” muttered Wade as he lurched over to the jackass trying to mug a woman.

“Stop!” screeched the woman as she tried to yank her purse away from the skinny-clearly-a-junkie man.

Wade calmly walked up and rapped the man’s scull with the hilt of a knife sending him dropping to the ground. “Okay,” he said cheerfully. “At _some_ point someone's gotta say, ‘nah, that shortcut down a dark, secluded alley that just screams it’s riddled with people who want to hurt me isn’t worth it’.”

“I wasn’t taking a shortcut, jackass,” snarled the woman as she rifled through her purse. Actually, it wasn’t a purse. It was one of those briefcase things that _looked_ like a purse. “Good,” she said firmly. “My research is still here.”

Wade knew he shouldn't ask. He couldn't stop himself. “If it’s not a shortcut,” he asked, “why did you go down the dark alley?”

“I was being chased.” The woman slung the bag over her shoulder, crossing her chest to make it harder to grab. “Fucking Oscorp,” she muttered.

“Oh, a potty mouth!” said Deadpool cheerfully. “How about this; I’ll walk you home, and keep you safe from any more people trying to jump you.”

She paused and looked at him. “All right. Thank you, Deadpool.” As they walked through the alley she asked, “How’s Peter?”

“Much better. We got a line on the fucker that wants him dead,” Deadpool answered cheerfully. “I’ll be seeing her happy ass in the morning.”

“Huh.” The woman adjusted her glasses, in the same strange way that Peter did. “Well, I hope he comes back to work soon. I want to show him the results on that matrix solution he whipped up.”

{I think this is going to be boring.}

[I think it’s going to be _important_.]

“What are they?” asked Wade as they turned down a street. A man, an office worker clearly trying to look like a homeless person, started to approach, but changed his mind as he saw who was walking with the woman.

“I’m using the artificial organic matrix to recreate organs,” said the woman excitedly. “Pepper requested that I start with trying to replicate the heart—do you have any idea how complicated the human heart is?” Rather than sounding offended or weary, the woman just sounded excited.

Impossible not to like her. She was too much like Peter. “You can do it!” he cheered.

“There’ll be failures,” said the woman eyes glinting with new light as they walked up to an apartment building, “but we’ll make it work!”

“Yes! Take no prisoners! Never accept ‘no’ as an answer!”

“Exactly!” The woman grinned and turned. “Thanks for walking me home, Deadpool.”

Wade posed. “Just doing my civic duty!” he said in his SuperheroTM voice. She rolled her eyes and went into the building as he turned and started jogging down the street.

{I think we’re actually in good shape.}

[Doesn’t matter. Healing factor won’t let us degenerate.]

Wade wasn’t paying attention. He heard something at the top of a building and climbed to see what was going on. There was a woman there, standing on the ledge opposite the side he’d climbed. “Oh, hey there!” he called.

She was silent long enough that he thought she didn’t hear him. “Hey,” she finally said.

“I _love_ looking at the night sky, especially with my bestest buddy, Spidey,” Wade said as he slowly, carefully made his way towards her. The last thing he wanted to do was startle her into falling off the roof.

“Oh.” The voice seemed oddly—emotionless. As though there was nothing left. Not anger, not sadness—nothing.

Wade couldn't help the shiver that ran through him at the small word. “So,” he asked drawing out the word, “do you wanna talk about it?”

“They’re going to take the city,” she said flatly.

[Who is?]

Wade thought that was a good question, so he repeated it. She turned to look at him and he could see that she was clutching her left arm tightly, expression haunted. He could see black in her skin, under the hand. “The monsters.”

{I think she’s more crackers than we are.}

[That—that does not look good. Maybe her arm is infected?]

“Hey, you know there’s a hospital that can look at that arm,” Wade offered. “I can take you there, if you like.”

The woman let out a low broken laugh that made the hair rise on the back of his neck—if he still had hair.

[She sounds like— _we_ did.]

Wade didn’t follow the thought. He remembered being on the edge of sanity, and didn’t want to go there again. “Hey, why don’t you come down from there and tell me about the monsters?” he asked. He was trying to get her away from that ledge. Normal people did not heal like he did.

“There’s going to be only two types in this city,” the woman said. “Those who have turned into monsters, and those who are eaten by them.”

“I’m sure there will be people who hunt the monsters,” said Wade desperately, trying to get her off that ledge. He hadn’t stopped moving towards her.

“I can hear it, you know?” the woman said calmly. “The voice. Telling me what to do. I can ignore it now, because I’m still human, but I won’t be much longer.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Wade said.

“You don’t understand!” hissed the woman. She turned towards him, eyes wide and bright, no longer sane. “You don’t know what it wants! What it’s _saying_! I won’t do it—I won’t be one of them!” She turned and shouted into the night. “You hear me?! I won’t be one of them!” She jumped.

Wade rushed that last distance to the ledge, reached out to grab her, to stop her from falling—but didn’t quite make it.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman and Harry have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three quick notes.
> 
> 1) About Norman. See, I'm fond of the Terry Goodkind quote, "Every man is the hero of his own story." Norman has his reasons. They're even good ones. He's just an F'd up A-hole who is too crazy to realize that his methods are, quite frankly, insane.
> 
> 2) We will get back to Wade in due time. This is just happening at the same time as that and so is slotted here. Thank you for understanding.
> 
> 3) I just realized I didn't have this as a tag, so I'm going to state it now. I fully intend for this story to have a happy ending. Our two main boys will get together, the missing children will be rescued, and general happy things will happen at the end of the story. Got to wade (no pun intended) through a lot of crap to get there though.

Norman paced his office in silent fury as he contemplated what he’d learned.

_You never should have allowed the boy this much freedom._

Perhaps. He hadn’t wanted  to push Harry too far—too far and the boy would give up. No, his purposes were suited much better when he was fighting. When he saw Norman as the enemy.

_And look where that plan got you._

Norman’s lips tightened. Yes, indeed. It had worked—for a while. It would still be working now if it wasn’t for the new variable in the equation!

_Should have killed that little bitch when she first showed up_ .

Yes, well, too late now. At least for another t wo years. Then he could reevaluate the situation and decide if she needed to die. Right now—right now that was impossible.

There was a timid knock on his door as he heard Harry call out, “Father? You wanted to see me?” The voice was timid and a little frightened.

_That’s a good sign. It means he respects us._

“Come in,” ordered Norman. The door opened and his son walked in. Norman stared at the boy. He looked like a younger version of Norman himself; there was no doubt who his father was to the casual eye.

Norman walked over to his desk and turned to look at his son, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded the boy.  After a few moments of the silent staring Harry began shifting nervously in place, as Norman knew he would. “Did you honestly think,” Norman demanded with cold fury, “you could do this?”

H arry didn’t answer right away. He stared at his father and something more entered the slightly frightened expression. Something Norman had never seen on the boy’s face before.

Something Norman felt every day.

“I know you hate me,” Harry said. “I may have never figured out why, but I know you hate me.”

Norman sighed. This new variable had pushed Harry too far, past the point of no return. The boy was useless to him now. He could just cut the tie and let the idiot find out—but no. No, he would  _not_ let that bitch win!

_She deserved her death._

She deserved more than that. Still, that was in the past. Her body would never be found. 

“I think,” Norman said coldly, “that you are operating under a misunderstanding.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He knew they had no idea just how delicate the system was, or how much control he had over it. “I do not hate you,” he told his offspring just before inputting the command that made the boy double over in pain as his artificial heart sent out a calculated half a milliliter of glutamate into his system. Norman wanted to teach the boy a lesson, not cripple him. Cripples were no use to anyone.

“I,” Norman told the gasping boy now writhing in pain on the floor, “own you. I decide when you live, when you die, and when your body is in too much pain to move. And,” he added as he bent down and grabbed Harry’s face to force his son to look at him, “ _you_ are _not_ getting on a plane. Not again. Now,” he continued as he dropped the boy to the floor, “I’m off to find your whore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On another side note down here, I'm thinking of participating in Spideypool Big Bang 2019. (Haven't actually decided that yet.) I even have a story idea for it that, like an idiot because I don't know my limitations or how to stop pushing them, I've already started. (No details--that would be against the rules.) Now: this story will be posted on this site whether or not I participate. Really changes nothing except that the other story will be posted in its full and complete glory in one shot much farther down the road.
> 
> Since I'm (in addition to my other flaws) an indecisive person, I thought I'd poll for it here in the comments. 1) I participate. 2) I don't. Please, let me know what you think. :)


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane gets some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just wanted to remind you guys that there will be happier things happening later. There will.
> 
> Also--a bunch of stuff just hit the fan in my RL. Updates will be spotty for the foreseeable future. I'll let you know when it passes.

Mary Jane paused when she saw the men in suits. She recognized them as Oscorp, and didn’t trust them any more than she trusted their boss. She took a step back and turned to run, to leave as fast as she could without suspicion.

She didn’t succeed. Soon they were chasing her through the streets of New Amsterdam, and her childhood at following Peter came in handy. She let the happy memories flood her mind as she dove into another alley, trying to escape the men chasing her. She knew they were up to no good.

She could almost see little Peter, gap where his front teeth had been, grinning up at her and beckoning her down another alley, this one almost too thin for her to get down. If it was almost too thin for her, it would definitely be too thin for the men chasing her, and she scooted down. She had to drop her bag—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to let them catch her. Who knew what Norman wanted with her.

With her child.

Tiny hands reached out and grabbed one of her wrists pulling her through when she almost got stuck. Mary Jane coughed as she fell to the ground, supported by one of the ubiquitous street children that almost always seemed to be around Peter. The child (she couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl) gently rubbed her hand, huge red hat almost obscuring the child’s face as another child reached up to the gap and put a hand to it. Mary Jane heard a sound,  like the popping of small fireworks before there were yells on the other side.

The child rubbing Mary Jane’s hand said, soothingly, “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Another child, taller than the first two, came out of nowhere and glared at them. “Say what now?” the tall one demanded. Like the one rubbing her hands, this one wore a hat; but it was small and striped where it sat on the tall child’s greasy hair.

“She needs a safe place to stay,” the child holding Mary Jane’s hand announced.

“No. Hell no. She’s an adult; she can go where the adults go.”

The child by the small alley turned and looked at the tall child. “She’s with child,” the child announced.

Chill ran over Mary Jane. How did the child know? She wasn’t far enough along for it to be easily spotted, or she never would have fit through that crack.

“All children,” the child continued, oblivious to Mary Jane’s inner turmoil, “are welcome at the Safe Place.”

The tall one seemed to have nothing to say to that. Hands ran through the greasy hair as the child looked between the other two and then at Mary Jane’s pale face. “What about Angel?”

The eyes of the child standing next to Mary Jane rolled. “Angel’s older than all of us,” the child responded tartly.

A fourth child, about the same size as the one holding Mary Jane’s hand and wearing a matching red hat, suddenly appeared. “They have orders to capture, not kill or injure,” the fourth child announced.

The tall one groaned. “All right!” the child said throwing arms into the air dramatically. “We take her to the Safe Place.” The other three cheered and urged Mary Jane onto her feet before herding the confused woman down the alley. “Ellie is going to kill us,” the tall child muttered.


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade returns from patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I did this right, there will be emotions.

Wade slammed open the door to his apartment.

[Way to go jackass. Some hero  _you_ are.]

{Couldn’t even help one poor woman!}

[Spiderman could have caught her.]

{Nothing more than poor imitation.}

Wade ripped his mask off and stared at the crimson, black, and white thing in his hands. Equal parts leather and Kevlar, it weighed more than Spidey’s entire outfit probably did.  The weight of the dead. Of the grave. Of failure.

{It’s all your fault!}

It was. If he’d been more approachable, if he’d been more toned down, if he’d been more like Spidey—she wouldn’t have jumped. She would have been fine; he would have gotten her to the hospital and gotten that horrible wound on her arm looked at and treated, and everybody would have been happy. But no. No, he was a failure! Wade hurled the mask across the room, barely listening as it hit something as he collapsed against the closed door behind him.

“Wade?” asked a voice. “Are you okay?”

Fuck. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “It—it’s nothing,” he grit out.

“Don’t lie to me, Wade.” Peter calmly and unerringly made his way through the dark towards Wade. “Tell me what happened,” he suggested calmly.

[Don’t.]

{He’ll just hate you.}

“Wade?” Peter’s warmth, his comforting weight, settled into Wade’s lap. Wade looked up and abruptly wished that a light had been left on. If this was going to be his last conversation with Peter, he wanted to be able to see more than just a silhouette. “Talk to me,” Peter urged quietly.

[Sure. Tell him how you failed to save someone when your hero asked you to watch his city.]

Wade bit back a sob and Peter pulled him into a hug. “I failed, Petey,” he said as he buried his nose into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

Peter simply rubbed soothing circles into Wade’s back, “At what, Wade?” he asked softly, gently.

Wade had no right to such gentleness, but he couldn't pull away. “ There was a woman tonight,” he said, fully prepared for Pete to hate him.

[Liar.]

Peter said nothing, just kept up with that soothing rubbing. “She was—on the ledge. Of a roof,” he clarified, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. “She—she jumped, Peter, and I couldn't—I couldn't save her.”

Peter stopped rubbing the soothing circles and tightened his grip on Wade into a fierce hug. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

The words felt like both benediction and horrible mutilation. Wade’s own arms tightened around Peter’s body. “You don’t know that,” he said miserably.

“Yes, I do,” Peter said firmly.

Wade drew in another shuddering breath as he closed his eyes and hugged Peter. “Spidey could have saved her,” he mumbled.

“Oh, Wade, no. Honey, no. You don’t know that. He might have failed too. He might have made it _worse_.”

Wade couldn't let anyone, not even Petey, trash talk his hero like that. “Oh, no,” Wade said firmly. “Webs is like—the best hero in the world. The universe.”

There was a moment of silence from Peter before the younger man laughed. “I love you, Wade,” Peter said, voice choked with emotion.

{I don’t understand. Shouldn't he be jealous?}

“You couldn't,” Wade whimpered. He wasn’t worth loving. He shouldn't get that privilege—but he couldn't let go. If anything, he clung tighter.

Peter didn’t squirm or demand to be released. Instead, he chuckled. “ You know Wade,” he said calmly, softly amused, “the best things in life come in threes.” Wade listened, because it was Peter talking, but he made a sound of disagreement. “No, listen. Those cherries on the top of One Cone’s sundae cones.  Chocolate. You.”

“Me?”

“You. Wade Winston Wilson,” Peter clarified. Peter gave a squeeze of his arms, almost knocking the breath out of Wade. “You’re the best one ever.” Wade let out a breathless laugh and felt Peter grin. “You are,” he said fondly.

Peter loved him. Peter loved him. Peter  _believed_ in him.

[Say it back, asshole!]

“I love you too,” Wade whispered. “You,” Wade’s voice broke as his throat closed. “I love you,” he whispered. He didn’t know how convey how much loved, adored, and marveled at this young man, holding him. Comforting him. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just enjoying the warmth of his boyfriend’s presence. He did know that he fell asleep. He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up. Woke up to feather light touches on his face. His face that didn’t have a mask on it.

{Where’s the mask?!}

[Idiot threw it across the room, remember?]

And Wade did. At the time, it had been dark, but now the sun had risen. Now there was light in the apartment. Hesitantly, not wanting to see the disgust on Peter’s face but knowing he’d have to face it sooner or later, Wade opened his eyes.

Peter’s own eyes were searching Wade’s face. The feather light touches were Peter, gently tracing the patterns between the scars.  The expression on his face wasn’t disgust, disdain, or revulsion (Wade was intimately familiar with all of them). It appeared to be mild confusion. “I don’t see it,” Peter said quietly, hand still tracing the skin.

[What?]

{What?}

“See what?” Wade’s voice was hoarse, almost like that time he’d gargled gravel just to see what would happen. 

Peter’s soft brown eyes met his without hesitation. “You keep calling yourself a monster,” Peter said. “ I don’t see a monster when I look at you.”

[Lies!]

Wade hesitated. It  _would_ be easy to call it a lie—but he was looking into the face right now. And there was no horror, no fear, no recoil. “What  _do_ you see?” he asked instead.

“Strength,” Peter responded simply. Then he elaborated, “I see a man who’s gone through Hell and gotten back up and still has the humanity to care about other people.” A smooth, soft hand came rest against Wade’s face as Peter cupped his cheek. “You’re stronger than you think you are, Wade Wilson.”

Wade leaned into the touch. He always did. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, Peter sitting right there. Calmly. Sweetly. “Pete,” he said firmly, “as sweet as this is, facing you without my mask is kind of freaking me out right now.”

Peter smiled. “Coward,” he teased gently as he pulled the mask over Wade’s head.

[We threw the mask to the other side of the apartment. How did he get it?]

Before he finished pulling the mask over Wade’s face he leaned in and, quickly, pressed a gentle kiss to Wade’s lips before pulling away and tugging the mask fully into place. His face was red as a tomato.  Before Wade could say anything Peter had lurched to his feet. “Come on,” he urged gently. “I’ll make breakfast.”

{Excuse you, did he just say he was going to cook?}

Wade scrambled to his own feet. “Wait for me!” he called.

[No, seriously guys. How?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid limbo.


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a meeting with Professor X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--this happened. After all, planning is important.
> 
> Please don't hate me. We'll be checking back in with the boys in a couple of chapters, and yeah; more emotions. Look forward to it. Please?

Tony had never gotten along with Professor X. Probably had something to do with their competing egos that X denied they had, but come on. They plastered his team’s uniforms with his personal logo. Tony plastered his building with his name. They both had the ego.

More importantly, Professor X had something Tony didn’t, at this point in time. Information. Advice. All of which, if his personal plan was going to go down, he needed.  Actually, no. What he  _needed_ was the ability to do some serious, hardcore research into the subject without warning certain people about what was going to happen to them in the future.

X sat in his wheelchair and propped his elbows on the chair arms as he regarded Tony in front of him. “I don’ t know what you think I can help you with,” the professor said calmly as one of his students handed Tony a teacup. With tea in it. Real tea. “We don’t keep your kind of drinks on campus; most of our students are underage,” the bald man added calmly.

“Not to mention that we have no idea what inebriation will do to most mutations,” muttered the student before leaving the office.

Tony sighed, leaned forward, and carefully deposited the steaming teacup on the dark mahogany desk in front of him. “ I need to build a home,” he told the man.

“I don’t see why you’re consulting me,” X said calmly. “Surely you have architects for that sort of thing.”

Tony heard muffled laughter from the other side of the door and ignored it. “This is for a different kind of building,” he said firmly.

“A home,” X reminded him.

“For children,” Tony replied firmly. “Children who have been traumatized, possibly brainwashed, and definitely powerful.” Tony winced as his mind reminded him of who these children had as parents. “Definitely powerful, with powers that may or may not be under control yet.”

“Are you making a home for the street children?” X asked calmly.

“No, but that’s not a half bad idea. Think they’d want to live there too? Socialization is important for children,” he added not really believing it, but it was a common theme among the parent blogs he’d been reading. Well, he’d grown up without much more interaction than a negligent nanny and some bots, and _he_ was fine.

X winced. Tony wasn’t sure what he winced at. “Tony,” the man said wearily as he rubbed his head, “where do you think these children are going to come from?”

“SHIELD,” Tony replied. 

The bald man looked up and met Tony’s eyes for a moment. “I—see. Tony, this is not normally a question I would ask because the idea of actually touching your mind sickens me to an extent, but may I take a moment to read it? I believe this conversation will go much faster.”

Well, Tony was nothing if not a fan of expediency. Especially when he was on a time crunch. “Go ahead,” he said calmly. He calmly sat through the oddest sensation of hands rifling through his skull while the man in front of him paled and gripped the sides of his wheelchair.

“Good God,” swore X. “How—how did none of us realize this?” he asked, clearly shaken.

“It was hidden. Deep,” Tony replied. Honestly, the only reason that Tony knew was because SHIELD had no idea about JARVIS. He intended to keep it that way. “I’m not going to let them stay there any longer than I have to, but I need somewhere for them to go when I get them out.”

X nodded. “You will also need teachers,” the other man said firmly. “Caretakers. People who understand mutations and trauma like no one else.”

“Got any recommendations?” Tony asked.

X smiled. “A few. Have you decided where this will be yet?”

“Well, there’s a similar manor house to this one not that far away…”


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May is introspective.

May sat at her table and stared at the amber filled glass in front of her. It had been five thousand, five hundred and sixty-five days since her last drink. Since the last time she felt the harsh burn of the amber liquid slide down her throat.

For the most part, she didn’t miss it. After Peter had come into their lives, become a permanent part of it, she had felt—fulfilled, in a way that she hadn’t before. Happy. Complete.

The last time she found herself at this table, staring at the amber liquid, had been shortly after Ben had died. Peter was a teenager, she’d reasoned to herself. He didn’t need her anymore, she didn’t  _have_ to be present all the time. She could let the amber liquid lull her into the sleep she’d needed. But, at that time, Peter had shown up in the hall. Weary. Eyes blackened by the sleep he wasn’t getting either. She’d had to be there—for Peter. She couldn't collapse.

Peter was older now. He even had a boyfriend. She chuckled as she imagined what his reaction would be when he discovered Peter’s secret. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d love her boy anyway. When she thought of how he spent his free time (and not so free time) going around and saving the city pride rose in her chest and she could only imagine—

A sharp pain made her inhale sharply, the scent of the liquor in the glass burning her nose.  Her vision wavered as she remembered those who would be most proud. Ben. Richard. Mary.

She might have warned Mary away, all those years ago, but she couldn't argue that someone perfect, wonderful, and sweet had come from it. Probably would have been two of them—but that was a ship that had sailed a long time ago. There was no going back now, no matter how much any of them wanted to.

She picked up the glass and stared at it. The amber liquid caught the light and sparkled like a living thing, cool drops of water sweating from the side of the glass. She pressed it to her aching forehead.

She wanted to rail at Norman, to blame him. But—but she’d been there, at the funeral. She’d seen how heartbroken he was at losing his two best friends, his tethers on sanity. Not that she’d realized just how thin his grip on sanity was at the time, of course.

She remembered the shock she’d felt when little Peter, no more than six years-old, had come home with his new best friend—none other than Harry Osborn. Norman’s son. A child with almost as many secrets as Peter and just as oblivious to them all. 

She’d been torn at the time. Torn between wanting to protect both children from all the bad in the world and wanting to grab Peter and move out of the fucking country altogether. She knew, better than any of them, what kind of a monster Norman was. She knew what the man’s father had done. And she knew that once Norman saw Peter, once he realized who Peter was, that the man would never let go. Even if that meant becoming the same kind of monster his father had been.

May took a low, shuddering breath as she put the glass back down on the table. Was there something that she could have done better? Something to prevent whatever was going on now? She wasn’t an idiot—she could see the pain in Peter’s eyes when he talked about Harry, the pain in MJ’s eyes when she was with both of them. Norman had done something. And, like his father before him, he’d done something unforgivable.

She abruptly got up, rushed to the sink and dumped the glass. Running the tap at full force, both temperatures open wide, she rinsed the glass of every last trace of amber liquid and then used the sprayer to chase it all down the sink. Only when she was satisfied that not even the smell remained did she turn the water off.

She couldn't afford to go down that road again. She’d failed, all those years ago. She’d failed Richard and Mary, she’d failed Harry—she’d even failed Norman. She looked up and met her determined gaze in the reflection of the glass. She wasn’t going to fail again.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter spend some more time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, on top of everything else, I seem to have caught a cold. Yeesh.

Peter wanted to go back out. After all, they knew who was behind the hit, the person could easily be turned in to the police, and Peter could go back home. He could get back to his hectic, chaotic life where he was barely sleeping and eating whenever he managed to scrape up the money for food—or whenever Wade fed him, which was a lot these days.

Wade needed him. Wade hadn’t managed to articulate why the woman committing suicide was bothering him so much (Peter had once seen him cut the hand off someone and make a joke about it), but it was clear that Wade was bothered. He wasn’t his usual self; he had an odd waver in his voice. He also wasn’t his usual bouncy self; he moved almost like he was on autopilot. Even the bickering with his boxes was muted.

The city would be fine for one more day. He needed to stay with his boyfriend, make sure that Wade was alright, and explain that he really could make grilled cheese sandwiches without supervision. Honest. He made them all the time.

He couldn't tell if Wade was unconvinced or just needed the company. He stayed in Peter’s vicinity—but didn’t reach out to touch Peter unless Peter initiated. Peter wasn’t entirely certain what was going through his boyfriend’s mind, but he was well acquainted with guilt. With feeling that no matter how hard you tried you just wouldn't be enough. He was well aware that the worst thing to happen at this point would be to leave Wade alone with those feelings.

“Hey,” Peter suggested, “why don’t we watch a movie?”

“K.” The sound was more of a grunt than a word, but Peter accepted it and took the food to the living room before putting on a movie. Something happy.

Halfway through the movie Wade let out a small sob and Peter reached over and pulled his boyfriend into his lap, rubbing Wade’s back as the larger man cried in a much needed release. Unbidden memories of Uncle Ben holding Aunt May in just this same way after a bad shift at the hospital sprung into his mind, and he softly began to sing the same song that Uncle Ben used to sing to comfort his aunt.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Peter sang softly and, unfortunately, off key. “You make me happy, when skies are gray.” Wade’s sobbing began to slow down and he continued. “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“’M no sunshine,” Wade mumbled from his position, voice muffled by Peter’s shirt.

“Wrong,” Peter corrected gently. “You’re _my_ sunshine.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Wade’s head and the other man gave a low shudder at the contact—muffled as it was through the suit.

Wade sat up, still holding Peter, and tucked his head into the crook of Peter’s neck. “She was like me, Petey.” Peter simply sat there, rubbing his back as the movie played in the background. “She was all wild and broken and I couldn't save her.”

Peter could have told him that it was impossible to save everyone. It was a fact. A cold, hard fact that did nothing to comfort the crippling guilt left behind by failure. He knew _that_ better than he knew his own name. “I know,” Peter said as he held Wade, “that you don’t believe it, but you did your best. You did all that you could do. No one can do any more than that.”

Peter could hear the echoes of all the people who had given him that same advice. Aunt May. Mary Jane. And even, once, Wade himself.

A shudder passed through Wade as he gasped. “It doesn’t— _feel_ like I did everything,” he said.

Peter laid his head down on top of Wade’s. “I know,” he said calmly.

“It—it hurts,” sobbed Wade. “It hurts, Petey.”

“I know,” Peter said as soothingly as possible, holding his boyfriend.

“I keep—I keep seeing her face.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. How many times had he laid awake at night, seeing faces in the darkness? The faces of those he couldn't save?

“I—I don’t.” Wade gasped and then looked up at Peter. “Does it—does it get better?” he asked.

If Peter had been anyone else, he would have told Wade that it did. But other people didn’t live the lives they did, didn’t see the ones they’d failed to save. “Not really, no,” he admitted.

Wade let out a noise that has half sob and half laugh. “You won’t lie to me,” he said.

“No Wade. I won’t lie to you,” Peter promised softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGa3zFRqDn4
> 
> Just in case anyone wanted to hear the full song. :)


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you hoping for something fluffy--I'm sorry, not this chapter.

Harry managed to make it to the stairs. If he took the elevator he’d be caught, the employees would take him back to the office. Back to his father.

He paused on the top step breathing, as he’d been taught, through the pain. Slow, deep breath in. Slow, deep breath out. It didn’t make the pain any less, but it did make it—manageable. Mary Jane had insisted he learn alternate methods of pain management.

Mary Jane.

He forced his eyes open and, carefully leaning on the stair rail to keep from falling as the pain rose and ebbed, began to make his way down the staircase. There were no cameras on the stairs; he didn’t know why. This was also the back staircase, so it wasn’t used by regular employees. No one who would stop him. Cart him back up to the office.

He stopped, gasping and sweating, as another wave of pain rolled over him. For a moment it felt as if every nerve ending in his body was _screaming—_ and then it passed. He began to move, determined to get as far as he could before the next wave hit.

Just what had Norman _done_ to him? He’d done—something—on that cell of his, the same one that he input the code keeping Harry alive on. And then—this pain.

What had Norman said? _“I own you.”_ And, _“I decide when you live or die or are in too much pain to move.”_ What the Hell had Norman done?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have far to go to get out of the building. Once he was out, he could find help. He wouldn’t have tried this if it had been just his life on the line—but it wasn’t. It was also Mary Jane’s life. It was also the life of their unborn child. He had to protect them from his insane father.

He managed to get out the door, walk a few steps down the street—and then another wave sent him plummeting to his knees as he gasped for breath. It hurt to breathe. It hurt not to breathe. He couldn't move.

“Hey, are you all right?” Harry turned his head in the direction of the person talking to him. His eyes, blurry with tears from the pain, couldn't see anything.

“He—help,” he gasped, sweat pouring down.

“Holy shit,” swore the person. “You’re Harry Osborn. And _that’s_ Oscorp…”

“No!” protested Harry. He tried to grip the clothes of the person he was talking to, but his hand slid on—something metal? He couldn’t _see_ , and he couldn't blink to clear his vision.

“Okay. Okay, Oscorp bad. Yup, seen _that_ before. Don’t worry,” the voice said as two thin arms picked him up. “I know just where to take you.” He shuddered as the pain spiked again. “Oh! Sorry. This is faster though—hold on!” The air punched out of his lungs and he tried—and failed—to breathe. Just as he was about to pass out he was able to pull in a greedy gulp of air—only to trigger more pain. “Careful, breathe,” cautioned the person holding him. He was put down to where his feet were touching the ground, but not released enough to fall. “Hey, you!” There was a yelp nearby and his vision cleared enough to see the deep blue of the floor beneath him and the edge of an almost white curve that he _thought_ was a shoe. “Get me someone from medical, _now_!”

“What’s going on?”

Harry almost fainted in relief. Probably would have if everything didn’t hurt so much. He recognized that voice. It belonged to the bane of his father’s existence, the sole reason why Stark Industries was still alive. Pepper Potts.

“He needs medical attention.”

“This is _not_ a hospital.”

“It’s better. Especially the medical bay on the twelfth floor that no one is supposed to know about.”

There was a moment of silence before he heard Pepper ask, “And how do _you_ know about it?”

“Because it’s _always_ on the twelfth floor.”

Another moment of silence before Pepper called out, “Get a gurney!”

“You’re going to be fine,” Harry’s rescuer said firmly.

Harry whimpered a mix of physical and emotional pain. Sure _he_ would be fine—but what about MJ? “MJ,” he whispered. Another surge of pain took away his ability to breathe.

“I’ll look for her. And when I find her, I’ll do what I can to keep her safe,” the voice of his rescuer promised.

Harry would have asked for more details but another wave of pain knocked the breath out of him. He barely felt it when he was placed on the rolling bed. He hoped they’d be able to help. That MJ would be all right.

A nagging question kept him from plunging into unconsciousness. Who was his rescuer, and how had she known to take him to Stark Industries?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me?


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie is struggling to understand adults.

Ellie ducked into an empty room and waited for the new man to pass by. Sure, the teachers trusted him. Sure they even seemed to  _like_ him a little bit. Not her. Ellie didn’t trust Stark as far as she could throw him.

“What are you doing?” Ellie turned to look at the bright girl from earlier.

“I don’t want Stark to see me,” Ellie whispered. She knew his hearing wasn’t that good—by itself. He was a master of technology and she wouldn't put it past him to wear an aid of some kind.

“Does he know you?” asked the girl. Yukio, Ellie remembered.

“He’d better not,” growled Ellie. Nothing good happened when people like that took interest in normal people.

_Nothing?_ the quiet little voice in the back of her mind asked. She remembered how she’d met Mr. Parker, and how he’d helped. Time and time again, he’d helped.  Even when it had been inconvenient, detrimental, or taken him out of his way he’d helped. 

But Tony Stark was  _not_ like Peter Parker.  Tony Stark didn’t walk the streets of New Amsterdam. He didn’t talk to the people in those streets. His eyes never searched for the hurt, the hidden, the  _unnoticeable_ . Tony Stark was  _not_ someone Ellie would trust. Ever. She’d stab herself first.

“Why do you hate him so much?” asked the voice behind her. Ellie turned to face Yukio.

Ellie wasn’t entirely certain what to make of Yukio. The girl was an outsider, a danger. But—at the same time, she wasn’t. “I don’t hate him,” Ellie tried to explain. Yukio, for all her happiness, for all her sunshine, had a coldness to her. A coldness that was similar to that of the street children. Ellie didn’t think the adults had noticed it.

Yukio snorted and rolled her eyes and Ellie protested. “I don’t! I just don’t want anything to do with him.” Ellie crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

All of the street kids had known that Runaways Unite was bad news. None of them had understood just  _how_ bad until the article (that Mr. Parker had written) had come to light.  Even  _normal_ people, people who actually  _loved_ their kids were upset by the news of what Runaways Unite had done.

Even though no one had been able to explain to Ellie’s satisfaction why  the general populace was  horrified by the revelation when the general populace didn’t give two craps about the street children. Seriously, the same people who praised Runaways Unite for taking the “dangerous” children off the street were the same ones now calling for the organization’s head. Or what was left of it, after the woman had been brutally murdered and her home set on fire.

E llie was even more confused over the outrage about  _that_ . The woman had clearly been doing something so vile that even the  _street children_ looked good in comparison—and people were outraged that she was murdered? Why? People were murdered all the time without the horror and outrage that this death was getting. 

And Ellie had been silent for too long, but Yukio just patiently waited for her to speak. Ellie shoved her hands deep in her pockets and looked away from the far too sharp, penetrating stare of the other girl. “’S dangerous, ya know,” she mumbled. “When someone like that pays attention.”

One of the teachers would have demanded that she explain herself. Yukio merely nodded. “ Sometimes,” the cheerful girl offered, “it’s better to be invisible.”

Ellie gave a quick smile.  _Someone_ understood. Yukio beamed at her and then grabbed Ellie’s hand. “It’s almost time for dinner, and Scott is cooking!” she said happily.

Ellie wanted to pull away from the cheerful girl, to stammer that she didn’t need dinner, that she had to get back. She didn’t. To her surprise, she found her grip tightening as they went into the  kitchen. The teacher known as Scott stood at the stove stirring a huge pot that Ellie gaped at. She didn’t know that  pots could be that big. It was big enough that  _she_ could fit inside—and she took a wary step back.

“You don’t need to be scared!” trilled Yukio. “Scott is a great cook!”

Another teacher, a woman with copper hair like the one who hung out at Mr. Parker’s place, came into the kitchen. “And when Scott cooks,” she drawled dryly, “we don’t have to worry about fishing cigar butts out of the soup.”

“Stew,” Scott complained. “It’s stew, you uncultured heathen.” The female teacher laughed.

Ellie stared. She’d never seen them act like this before. It was—strange. Almost panic inducing.

The copper haired woman sighed. “Come on, Ellie,” she said wearily, “I’ll drive you home.”

“No.” The simple word from Yukio cut through the kitchen like a knife as the girl tugged Ellie towards her. “Ellie needs to stay and eat dinner,” she said firmly.

“Yukio?” asked Ellie, feeling frightened at the change in her friend.

“Don’t worry,” Yukio said cryptically. “It will be safe to go home later.”


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elektra asks Matt for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Family stuff today, and other stuff as well. I don't know when I'll be able to post again, sorry. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Matt sighed at the sound of crunching glass and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Elektra,” he said identifying her particular scent of ozone, gun oil, and leather, “I am _working._ ”

Foggy, asleep on the other side of the table, managed to snort anyway.

“There are monsters roaming the streets,” Elektra said bluntly as she leaned against the table, making it shake.

Matt carefully grabbed the edge of the table with one hand and the paperwork in the other. Whatever idiot had translated this contract to braille for him had refrained from putting page numbers in the corners and he was not going through all of this again! “Go tell the Avengers,” he said absently as he followed the contract. Hmm. Mr. Landlord was going to have a lot to answer for—but he finally knew why all of this had landed on his client. Parker was the _only_ tenant in the building with fixed rent, and the values for that plot of land had gone up.

“Your law partner is drooling,” Elektra informed him.

“Happens when he falls asleep with his mouth open,” Matt replied absently as he continued going through the contract.

“The Avengers won’t listen to me. According to their fancy computers, I’m dead.”

Matt paused and frowned. That—was a problem. Elektra _had_ died. Legally, she’d been dead three times, in actuality it was only two. Then again, it was the _Avengers_. Matt snorted. “It’s not like they don’t have experience with people coming back from the dead,” he told her.

Foggy hummed and smacked his lips before his breathing evened out again.

“Are you sure he’s asleep?” Elektra asked. He heard the sound of flesh moving.

“Elektra, stop poking my associate. Why are you here?”

“There are monsters roaming the streets.”

Matt sighed. “Allow me to rephrase. Why are you _here_ , at my office, during the _day_ when I have work? Legal work,” he added.

He heard her sigh as the table shifted under her weight when she leaned on it. “I got hired by this guy who was panicking. He’d done the paperwork and paid for a woman—said it was his girlfriend, sister-in-law, or something—and two kids to come to the States.”

“People disappear in foreign countries all the time,” Matt said absently as he sorted the paperwork. He was going to leave work early. He knew it. He didn’t have to have the powers of one of Xavier’s people to be able to tell, to feel the tides as they washed away at him.

“They didn’t disappear in the other country. They didn’t disappear on the way over. In fact, they made it to the NA Airstrip whole, healthy, and with a shit ton of baggage, according to the tapes.”

Matt stopped what he was doing and turned his head to her as his nostrils flared, trying to get the scent of this case. “Oh?” he asked calmly.

“Then, the airport was attacked. Spiderman and the Avengers showed, beat the bad guys, SHIELD took custody of the mutants, blah blah blah,” Elektra summarized. “Point is, the three went missing during the confusion.”

Matt turned to her warily. “What were you paid to do?” he asked curiously.

She snorted. “Find the kids. He doesn’t care much one way or the other about the woman, but he wants to make sure the kids are safe. He’s got someone sitting on him so I don’t have to worry about him endangering anyone or anything.”

“And the children?” Matt prompted.

“Are with the rest of the street children, wherever _they_ are,” Elektra said. “I’ve been assured they’re safe,” she added.

Matt could hear a mixture of respect and worry in her voice. “Assured by whom?” he asked.

“I don’t know. She didn’t introduce herself and Matt—this girl is good. I didn’t even know she was there until she spoke.”

Matt frowned as Foggy let out another snort and mutter. Elektra had been trained by the best. Matt knew this, because they’d helped train him too. Like Matt, it was almost impossible to sneak up on her. Almost. He knew of two people who could do it, and neither of them warranted the description “girl.”

Elektra, having given him a moment to mull that over, spoke again. “She told me to beware of spiders who used to be human. I thought she was talking about Spiderman.”

Not an unreasonable assumption, especially since no one had seen or heard from the vigilante in a while.

“She wasn’t. I saw one of the people change with my own eyes. I’m _guessing_ that’s what happened to the woman the kids were with.”

“And you’re hunting monsters,” Matt finished.

“If those children are afraid of the monster that used to be their caretaker, then killing her is the best way to make them feel safe.”

Matt sighed. “Let me finish this,” he told the woman. “I’ll be out to help you later.” He felt the shift in the table as she stopped leaning against it and heard her almost silent (silent to anyone without his hearing) footsteps as she left the office. Through the door this time; he heard it open and close.

“Does she really think I slept through all of that?” Foggy asked. The chair creaked under him as he sat up.

“Who knows?” asked Matt, already mentally wondering about the situation Elektra mentioned.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman makes a sale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a really short chapter. I just want to let everyone reading this know I'm taking a break from AO3 for a few days. (I decided to enter the SpideyPool Big Bang, but I need to get the story to the halfway point first, and it's nowhere near that yet and the deadline is marching ever onward.) But I hope everyone is still enjoying the story, and willing to wait until I get back! <3

Norman ignored the alert on his phone. He was in a meeting with a very important, and (hopefully) satisfied client. The same balding man as before looked over the goods, and the associated information while Norman waited.

He waited patiently. There were things one could not rush, after all.

_This man will be a danger later. We should kill him now._

Norman ignored the voice in his head. While he  _might_ decide to kill the man later—it wouldn't be until  _after_ Norman had his money.  The company had to prosper, after all.

“These are bold claims,” the man said as he looked through the paperwork.

Norman smirked at the man. “Full refund,” he said with confidence, “if it doesn’t work as advertised.”

A single eyebrow flew up to the man’s head. “Bold claims,” he repeated, but with a smile.

Norman wasn’t fooled into thinking that the smile meant he agreed, was impressed, or any other positive reaction. The man in front of him used  expressions as weapons, and Norman was well aware of that. Then again—he was the same way.

T he man picked up the product, gave Norman a salute, and then left.

Good. Now Norman could focus on other problems, such as the notification he got during the meeting. He pulled out the phone and checked—only to stare. Harry had gotten out of the building?

_You should have made the dosage higher._

Norman frowned. Perhaps. But the fact remained that if the dosage was too high, it would destroy the boy. He wanted Harry controlled, not dead or insane. But he’d left the device on a timer, to release a little more of the chemical periodically, to prevent him from moving.

_Someone must have helped him._

Norman’s lips tightened in a frown. He would find the person that had helped Harry out of the building and then he would destroy that person. He went to his desk and pulled up the security footage—only to see Harry force himself to his feet and take himself down the hall, one painful step at a time before vanishing down the back staircase. A staircase that had no security cameras. He tried in vain to check the footage from outside of the building, but there was nothing, because that entrance/exit had  _no cameras_ . It was necessary.

And Harry had, somehow, learned that.

_He was just lucky._

Perhaps. Or, perhaps Peter, brilliant scientist and programmer that he was, had figured out the blind spot. If Peter knew, he would have told Harry—just in case.

_He’s smart. And the other is strong._

But were they  _enough_ ? Norman didn’t know. Still, at the moment, there was nothing he could do about either Harry  _or_ Peter.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from Yuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm not sure I'm going to make the deadline...

Yuri was careful not to crush the flimsy coffee cup in her hands as she glanced nervously out of the corner of her eyes around the small, secluded shop.  She kept her dark hat low over her head, and to all outward appearances she was just another caffeine addict willing the fumes to work while the drink cooled enough to be safely ingested.  No one looked twice at her.

She knew; she was watching everyone. Anyone could be someone waiting for her, listening to the conversation—anyone could be a mole. Still, this was a public place well known for first meetings, specifically among those on dating apps. She thought—hoped—that if anyone saw her nervousness they’d just assume she was waiting for the person on the other end of an app to show—or not.

Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea, but she hadn’t known what else to do. No one, literally  _no one_ at the precinct had any kind of sympathy for the street children at all. What her coworker said was what they all believed; as long as a child was getting clothes, food, and going to school the child was well. It didn’t matter what kind of personal Hell the child was in as long as those three boxes were ticked. The worst part was that, from everything she could figure, the other precincts thought the same way.  _Something_ had to be done, and she was running short on ideas.

“Hey,” a voice said, startling her. Yuri lurched to her feet reaching, automatically, for the gun she wasn’t currently carrying. The young man behind her threw his hands into the air. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said softly. She glanced wildly around the small shop, wondering if she’d gotten some unnecessary attention. “Come on,” he said with a gesture towards the door. “Why don’t we go to the park?”

T he park was better. She hadn’t already made a scene  _there_ . She nodded and followed him out of the cafe.

There was a little known spot on the top of a shallow bluff, hidden between two trees. Someone knew about it, since there was a bench there. No one had been there in quite some time, as evidenced by the layer of debris on the stone bench. She quickly brushed it off before sitting. The young man sat next to her. “Why did you want to see me?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. In all honesty, he wasn’t her first choice. Her  _first_ choice had been the reporter responsible for the piece on Runaways Unite—but that person  _obviously_ wasn’t the man working the desk in the Bugle and she hadn’t been able to find out more information about him. However, the kind young woman at the front desk had pointed her towards this reporter. Eddie Brock.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the file she’d compiled before handing it to him. She was silent for a moment, wishing she hadn’t left her coffee behind, while he skimmed the information. She heard him gasp. “I know,” she said. She swallowed. “I—I tried,” she stammered out, “to handle it inside.  _No one_ cares.  Not children’s services, not Internal Affairs—no one.”

Eddie was silent for a moment. She could hear the pages turning in the folder. She wanted to look up, to gauge his expression—but she was afraid. She didn’t think he’d gotten a good look at her yet, and she didn’t want him to be able to find her again. “I can see why you wanted to do this privately,” Eddie commented. His voice was calm, almost clinical. “It’s a long way from investigating your coworkers to contacting a reporter.”

“This is wrong,” Yuri insisted softly, careful that her voice didn’t carry. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew what would happen to her if news of this got out. _Especially_ if it got to her coworkers.

“Why me?”

That—was an unexpected question. “I read the piece,” Yuri said softly. “About Runaways Unite. I spoke to the girl at the desk, said I had more information about the street children. She sent me to you.”

“Alright.” Startled by the tone of voice, she looked up and saw the vicious, smug satisfaction on the young man’s face as he stared at the folder in front of him. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “This will be everywhere.” He strode off, taking the folder with him, whistling a merry tune.

Yuri waited. She didn’t want to risk anyone connecting her to him. Also—she was worried. His attitude said he didn’t care, wasn’t concerned for the children at all. He just wanted a fat, juicy story to shock his readers with. That wasn’t the kind of person who’d written the Runaways Unite article; reading that one she had felt the sense of shock and horror that the author had felt in discovery.

Perhaps—perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps what Eddie was going to write would create a public outcry that would lead to change. Or, perhaps it would just rip the city apart as people chose sides and created factions that warred with one another despite all attempts to unify it.

“Dear God,” she prayed out loud, “Did I do the right thing?”

“Well,” a voice above her said, “it’s too late for regrets now.” Yuri jumped up and looked up—to stare at the winged young woman in the tree, lazily kicking one foot as the dappled sunlight glinted off her pink leotard. The young woman looked—thoughtful. She jumped down and looked up at Yuri—who realized with a sense of shock that the girl was shorter. “I’m glad to see you’ve got brains _and_ a spine,” she commented.

Yuri stared at the slightly ethereal girl. “Are you—are you a messenger from God?” she asked, a little in awe.

The girl laughed. “Me? Oh, no. I’m no messenger. A hunter, perhaps, but no messenger.” The girl scowled. “And not a very  _good_ hunter, either,” she muttered. “Hey, you wouldn't happen to have seen a red-headed girl about yea high, would you?” she asked holding a hand out slightly above her head. “Pretty in a next-door-neighbor kind of way, panicked?” Yuri shook her head and the girl let out a low hum. “What about a girl about yea high,” she measured a height about her own, “pale, black hair, snobby, haughty attitude?” Again Yuri shook her head. “Pity. Well, keep your gun handy. Things are about to get interesting and that usually means blood. Rubber bullets mind,” the girl added firmly. “Well, upward and onward.” She pushed off the ground, spread her wings, and took the air.

Yuri stared in shock and awe. The girl, despite acting like a girl, seemed almost—unreal somehow. Yuri didn’t think it was just the wings, there were mutants with wings, after all. She turned and headed back towards her apartment to arm up.

After all, she didn’t really believe it was a coincidence that she was talking to God and the girl responded.


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie gets to the place the street children call home, only to see they have a guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeah. Still trying.

Ellie knew that something was off as soon as she set foot in their place. The air was tense and no one was meeting her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked. The kid she asked mutely pointed and she turned—to see an adult.

Her first reaction was fury.  The purpose of the safe place was to be  _away_ from adults! Especially adults that might call the authorities on them.

Then she noticed something. The twins, who hadn’t really opened up to anyone other than Juby, really seemed to like this woman. The boy was sitting on her lap, drowsing and sucking a thumb periodically as the girl sat on the floor leaning against the woman’s legs. And the woman—the woman looked familiar.

Ellie reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing kid. “Why is there an adult here?” she demanded softly. She didn’t want to risk disturbing the twins. They were far more relaxed than Ellie had seen them since they’d been rescued from their monster.

The kid winced. “Remy told them you wouldn’t like it,”  the kid said, just as softly.

Ellie pivoted towards Remy. He leaned against one of the trees, watching the adult and two children while fidgeting with a card deck. She made her way over to him, careful not to be intimidating. The children here wouldn't respond well to intimidation, and she knew it very well.

“Mamie used to use cards,” Remy said softly when she got near him, “to tell futures. She was good. Not good enough,” he added thoughtfully, “but well enough. She said I’d know something bad was coming from the shivering in my bones.” He looked at Ellie, moving his line of sight from the woman and the children. “My bones are shivering Ellie. Something bad is coming.”

Ellie just rolled her eyes. She had too much to do dealing with the stuff she already knew about to just deal with the words. “Remy,” she said grimly, “things are already bad.”

“Not like this,” Remy said firmly. His gaze lowered to the three and he frowned. “The Snipers, well, we did our best there, and they were human,” he said softly.

Ellie nodded. They  _had_ done their best. They’d done better with advice from Mr. Parker and even better with later advice from Angel, but they’d done their best and had been surviving well. Not thriving, not quite yet, but on their way.

“And the monsters,” mused Remy watching them. “Here, the city has monsters everywhere. Coming up from the sewers. Falling from the sky. Opening portals in the middle of streets.”

Again, all true. The city of New Amsterdam was constantly being invaded. That was one of the reasons she’d done her best to herd all of the children into the safe place. It was better than the abandoned building they  _had_ been using.

“But this—this is different.” Remy turned to look at her again. “We were walking and suddenly the twins were engaged. The girl said we had to help. She sent an image into the woman’s mind to lead her to us, and Juby? Juby _attacked_ the people chasing.”

Ellie frowned. Juby was afraid of her own powers. She  _never_ attacked. Except—she had. Ellie knew better than to think that Remy would lie. 

“Then the boy just _vanished_ and came back and told us we needed to get her safe; that they had orders to capture, not kill.”

Ellie shuddered. She knew very well what orders like those meant. They all did.

“Yeah. So—we brought her here. Blindfolded her first,” he added. Remy turned his gaze back towards the three.

She recognized that look. “Most of us have powers,” she told him, still keeping her voice down. She didn’t want to alert the other children.

“Yeah,” said Remy. He still looked troubled. “Just—this isn’t the first time we’ve passed someone in trouble, the four of us. This is New Amsterdam, you know? And suddenly they’re moved to help? It doesn’t make sense.”

No. It didn’t. “We all do things that don’t make sense,” Ellie said as she turned towards the group. “Maybe there’s something about her that reminds the twins of their mom,” she suggested.

“Doesn’t explain Juby.”

“No.” Ellie walked over to the group of three.

Before she could address the three of them, Juby ran over. “Ellie!” she said. She pointed. “This is MJ. We saved her!”

“I heard.” Ellie turned to look at the woman, who seemed to shrink under her gaze. “I know you,” she said. “You’re one of Mr. Parker’s friends.”

The woman blinked. “You know Peter?” she asked.

A commotion from the entrance cut off any response that Ellie would have made and Angel ducked into the space with a kid under each arm, one on her back, and one on her front. “All right,” Angel said soothingly. “We’re here.” The wide-eyed, terrified children looked around and carefully detached themselves from her.

This looked more important from an adult who didn’t even know where she was. “What happened?” Ellie called out.

Angel made her way to the group as the children separated to their friends. “ Group got cornered by the monsters,” she said in a low tone, to avoid waking the twins. “Saved ‘em though,” she added.

One of the kids turned with wide eyes. “She shoved it!” the kid said pointing to Angel. “She just—she shoved it! And it  _went_ !”

“I told you I was strong,” Angel said. A glance showed Ellie that the older girl wasn’t boasting. If anything, she seemed puzzled at the reaction.

“It was still attached to the street!” screeched the kid. The twins around the woman shifted and began to look around for the source of the noise.

Angel looked to them—and saw the woman. “Ah,  _you_ must be MJ,” she said. “Mary Jane?”

“Yes?” asked the woman hesitantly.

“Ha!” Angel was clearly pleased.

“You sound happy,” Ellie observed.

Angel shrugged, flipping her wings at the same time. “I wasn’t sure which one I was looking for, you see.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, no, not from your perspective. From mine, yes. Anyway!” Angel turned to the woman. “Harry’s safe, he wants you to be safe, and monsters are starting to roam the open streets.”

Remy summed up all their feelings. “Again?” he demanded in irritation.

Before they could respond another kid ran up to them. “Angel!” the kid breathed with wide eyes. “The cat laid eggs!”

“The cat did what now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think? Please?


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes back to work.

Peter stood at the door with his bag and looked up at Wade. The larger man seemed to be a lot better, and Peter needed to get back to work (particularly before Jamison decided to fire him), but—Peter didn’t want to leave. He was still worried. “Are you sure?” he asked Wade.

He could see the smile behind the mask. Despite the fact that Peter had seen his face, despite the fact that Peter hadn’t had a negative reaction, Wade was still wearing it. “ I’m sure,” Wade said firmly. “Besides, the only reason you were hiding here is because  someone was trying to kill you, and that bitch is dead.”

Peter frowned at the memory of the article. “Yeah,” he said uneasily. He didn’t think Wade had killed the woman (his style ran more to bullets and knives than literally ripping people apart), but he didn’t think that Kingpin had done it either, no matter what the reporters were speculating.

“I didn’t kill her,” Wade hastily reassured him.

Peter smiled, reached, and grabbed one of Wade’s hands. “I know,” he said gently. “You wouldn't,” he added  with a light squeeze.

“Eek!” squealed Wade. “You’re _touching_ me!” He reached out and hugged Peter fiercely as Peter hugged him back.

“I happen to like touching you,” Peter said as he pulled back enough to meet the eyes of the mask above him. 

Wade buried his head into the crook of Peter’s neck as one of his hands came up to push the mask up—just enough to reveal his mouth—before pressing rugged lips into the skin of Peter’s neck making him shiver. Then he blew a raspberry against the skin, making Peter break out into a squealing laugh. 

“Wade!” he complained with a grin before pulling Wade up and pressing a firm kiss to those exposed lips. 

Wade grinned against the kiss before gently pushing Peter away and slipping the mask back down. “You need to get going,” he told his boyfriend. “I know you like staying at Casa Deadpool, but you have a life.”

“I like staying with _you_ ,” Peter corrected.

“Oh! Samesies! Really!” Wade gently bopped Peter on the nose. “Boop!” he said.

Peter’s nose wrinkled. “Wade!” he protested.

“Seriously Peter, you need to go back to work. You’re going stir crazy here.”

Peter relented. “Well, maybe a little,” he admitted. He suddenly grinned up at Wade. “And after work, we can go have dinner with my aunt!” he said excitedly.

“Your aunt,” said Wade flatly.

Peter’s face fell. “Don’t you want to meet my family?” he asked.

“Oh, Baby Boy, yes I do!” Wade said. He scuffed a shoe against the (still suspiciously clean) floor. “But, I—uh—I’ve already met your aunt. I had to let her know,” Wade added quickly, “that you were going to be okay.”

Peter stared at his boyfriend. “What happened?” he asked.

“She, uh, she laughed.”

Peter smiled. Of course Aunt May had laughed. She’d known that Peter was Spiderman for years, and the thought that Wade had kidnapped  _Spiderman_ to protect him from a random killer was kind of funny. “She likes you,” he teased, still holding Wade’s hand. 

“I don’t know how,” Wade said, sounding honestly puzzled.

Peter pulled the hand he was holding to his face and pressed it against his cheek. “Because you’re a wonderful person,” he assured his boyfriend.

For a brief moment the fingers curled around his cheek as Wade smiled at him. Then both hands firmly turned him towards the door. “Nice try,” he said. “But you’ve still got to go to work.”

Peter didn’t let go of the hand and used it to reel Wade towards him. “Only if we go out tonight,” he pressed.

“All right,” Wade relented. “Tonight.” Peter smiled and, slowly letting the hand he was holding go, walked out of the apartment.


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting in an alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of just quitting before I start. This is WAY too much stress--and not the good kind either.

[Can someone remind me why we’re not walking our boyfriend to work this morning?]

{Because we need to talk to Weasel. That was a professional hit.}

It was. Weasel may not have been the only broker of those kinds of jobs in the city, but he knew his entire competition and he’d know if it had been a paid hit. If someone  _hadn’t_ put a hit out on the woman—that meant it was personal. More investigation was needed before he  knew if this posed a new danger to Peter.

{That—would be bad.}

[Even if Weasel does know, what’s to make him tell us?]

{Well,  _we_ will, of course.}

“Why _wouldn't_ Weasel tell us?” Wade asked reasonably as they made their way towards the bar. “Client’s dead; corpses can’t pay, and good luck getting any kind of a settlement from the estate. There’s no _reason_ to protect privacy at this point.”

{Besides, Weasel really liked the techno babble whatsit that Peter did.}

[Do we understand what Peter did?]

{No.}

“Not really.”

A car door rolling across the street (minus car and cutting across traffic) interrupted Wade’s thoughts and he turned to see his favorite blind lawyer and someone else getting their asses kicked by what looked like a bizarre cross between a spider and a human.

{That looks like fun!}

[That’s not Spiderman, is it?]

Wade skipped across the street, ignoring the honking of the cars trying to go about their day as he zeroed in on the action in the alley. “Oh, a threesome!” he cried happily. “Can I play?”

One of the broken blades off a Japanese  _sai_ narrowly missed hitting him. “Covered,” grunted Daredevil as he tried to dodge a flailing leg—and failed.  The leg hit the top of his suit over his abdomen and ripped the suit under it.

D eadpool simply snorted before leaning against the wall. He wasn’t going to interfere while two supers clearly didn’t want his help. “I should’ve brought popcorn,” he commented. 

“Wait!” called a thin, desperate voice. He looked around for the source. Despite knowing a number of people who could fly, it didn’t even occur to him to look up until the winged form dropped, easily fending off blows from the monster and two heroes as she placed herself between them. “Stop!” she cried as she tried not to hurt any of the three.

_This_ one wanted help. Wade waded (ha, puns) into the fray and grabbed the back of Daredevil’s suit to yank him out of the way. The woman bounced along the ground, weapons out despite that one of the weapons was broken. “Did you know that a mosquito’s proboscis has six needles in it?” Wade asked excitedly.

Amber eyes blinked at him for a moment before Angel grinned. “Two of those needles have teeth,” she responded easily.

{It’s like we raised her!}

[According to her, we did.]

“What does that have to do with anything here?” demanded the woman.

“It was a person,” Angel said, easily switching tracks as she pointed to the monster behind her.

“And what does that change?” demanded the woman.

“The person is still in there!” Angel whirled, turning her back on the two heroes.

{That’s not smart. They could attack her.}

[She has a massive healing ability. And strength. I think she could take them.]

“You’re Pietro’s and Wanda’s mother, aren’t you?” asked Angel.

{Are we supposed to know who those are?}

[Shut up! This is important.]

The monster keened, the expression—turning pained. Angel spoke again. “You’re fighting her. You have no idea how impressive that is. But you can’t fight her forever.”

The monster wove from side to side on its six legs, the two arms on the human torso rubbing against each other as it made odd, clicking noises.

Noises that Angel seemed to understand. “They  _are_ safe. Where they are—there aren’t many places safer. Not here. Not with what’s roaming around.  _You_ know.” Angel took a step towards it and it scurried back a little. “You know what you’re hearing; what you’re being told to do,” Angel said firmly.

“ _I can hear it, you know?” the woman said calmly. “The voice. Telling me what to do.”_

“It’s better if you don’t know where they are,” Angel said firmly. “They’re safer that way.”

“ _I can ignore it now, because I’m still human, but I won’t be much longer.”_

[…maybe she wasn’t as crazy as we thought.]

“They’re safe?” demanded the woman in a cold, clipped tone as the monster turned and made its way away from them—before abruptly vanishing from sight.

{That’s a cool trick1}

“They are.” Angel sighed and turned to the two vigilante heroes. “Isn’t it a work day?” she asked pointedly.

Daredevil was still panting slightly. “Can’t let monsters take over,” he grunted.

“Good luck with that,” said Angel. Suddenly her head twisted in another direction and her whole body tensed. “I thought those idiots were gone!” she snarled before leaping into the air.

{What idiots?}

[We should find out.]

Wade saluted Daredevil and his lady friend before running after the flying girl.

{She probably would have given us a ride.}


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha learns something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make it! T.T But when this story (or Little Loves, whichever comes first) is finished I'll start posting chapters for the one I was making for Spideypool Big Bang. Don't know if people will like it; it's got more in common with Kingdoms, but it'll be posted for you. :)

Natasha’s steps were absolutely silent as she made her way into Stark’s office. One of the nice things about having the kittens in there was that everyone was encouraged to stop by occasionally in order to keep the kittens social. She wasn’t certain why that was important, but Pepper had assured everyone that it was and so now there was a relatively steady stream of people coming in to coo at the kittens.

She was certain the woman had forgotten that Natasha was a spy. She wasn’t about to remind them, and she carefully, silently rifled through the desk until she found what she was looking for. She quickly tucked it into her bag, gave the mother cat and each of her kittens a quick pet, and then left the office to find a private space to go over what she’d uncovered.

There was a small stair that looked like it had originally been built as a shortcut between two floors, but was never completely finished, and she took the file there before opening it. She frowned at the title pate of the document. “Experiment 23?” she muttered as she went through the file.

The pages were, oddly, marked with SHIELD watermarks, and she made a mental note to tell her handler about it. She didn’t know how Stark had gotten copies of SHIELD related documents, but he shouldn't have had access to them. SHIELD needed to know.

She stared in horror at the information. Children? There was a child with _her_ DNA, _her_ child. A child she had never seen, never borne. A child that had been artificially created.

A child that SHIELD had never thought to tell her about, even though they clearly knew.

Stark knew. And if Stark knew, then Pepper knew—but Natasha understood why they didn’t trust her. She was a spy from SHIELD and even though they sometimes forgot, they remembered enough to know that they didn’t fully trust her. They had no reason to.

Further exploration of the file provided more information. Stark Industries was laying the groundwork for an orphanage outside the city. They were negotiating with the Xavier Institute for teachers, custodial staff, and a psychologist. Everyone knew that the Xavier Institute was where mutants went for training—so Stark was planning on staffing his new orphanage with mutants—because most of the children in the file _were_ mutants, or at least had mutant parents. Some merely had exceptional parents, like the one with _her_ DNA.

She didn’t know whether to be humored or horrified that Clint didn’t have a child in the project. Granted, the man already had a family, a wife and children of his own. Something he didn’t go out of his way to hide—but didn’t go out of his way to remind people of, either.

Others in the list. Captain Barnes. Steve Rogers. Bruce Banner. Tony Stark. Matt Murdock. Sue Storm, her brother Jonny, her husband Reed. They all had children in the project. And from what she could tell—Stark was preparing to take the children out, to make them as safe and as happy as possible, so that they could have a normal life. So they wouldn't find themselves raised as soldiers, even though the training had probably already begun.

Natasha took the folder to Pepper. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Pepper looked up, saw the file in the spy’s hand, and calmly said, “Ah, I was hoping you’d find that. Will you help?”

Natasha met the piercing blue eyes with her own. “Yes,” she said firmly, her allegiance to SHIELD shattered beyond repair.


	87. Chapter 87

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets Angel.

The child in Tony’s grasp writhed and bit, uselessly, at the arms of the suit. “Kid, calm down,” he ordered desperately. The kid did not calm down.

How did people _talk_ to these creatures? They must. He _saw_ people talking to them. How did they do it?

“I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry,” a voice behind him said. He turned to see the mysterious girl with wings standing in the alley behind him.

“Angel!” the child shrieked. Tony released his grip on the kid and they ran to the girl, ducking behind her and putting her between themselves and Tony. He gave the kid a glare.

“Why are you randomly grabbing people?” the girl, Angel, asked with curiosity. Her wings rustled as one wrapped around the child, obviously comforting the kid.

Tony stared as the child peeked out around the girl, glaring at him. “I need to talk to a child,” he said.

“I’m sure there are children all over the city that would be more than happy to talk to you,” Angel firmly replied. “You don’t need to grab one off the street.”

How much? How much could Tony tell her. The girl was a complete unknown. As far as he could tell she just appeared one day. How could he trust her?

Then again, the girl was a complete unknown. Obviously, she could keep a secret. “I need to talk to one of the street children,” Tony protested.

She cocked her head to the side and watched him through narrowed eyes. The movement reminded him of—of something, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. “Why don’t you talk to Professor Xavier?” she asked.

“Oh, because he’s a mind reader?” demanded Tony in irritation.

The girl blinked slowly. “No,” she said carefully enunciating her words, “because one of the street children is a student of his school. You could talk to _her_ instead of terrorizing random kids.”

A small group of three children appeared behind Angel and reached for the girl in her wing. The wing uncurled around the child and all four vanished down the street. “Why do you need to talk to them, anyway?” asked Angel. The girl seemed puzzled.

Tony was a hair’s breadth away from bubbling hysterics. “Because of Experiment 23,” he grumbled.

There was no reaction, other than curiosity. “What’s that?” she asked.

Tony paused. Was there a reason to tell her? Yes, because she could get the street children on his side and X had convinced him that needed to happen. Could she keep a secret? Obviously, because not even SHIELD had any idea who she was or where she was from. He told her.

Her eyes went cold and her posture rigid. For one, tense moment she was perfectly still and his heart raced wondering if she was going to attack him. If there was anything he could do if she did. He knew she was fast, and strong. He wasn’t sure if Clint and Natasha realized how strong she had to be to lift straight into the air holding both of them—but Tony had run the calculations.

The girl let out a low, soft breath before regarding him with her amber eyes. “And what are you planning to do about it?” she demanded. As if she had a stake in the proceedings.

“I want to make them a home,” Tony said simply.

She let out a sigh and slightly drooped. “Listen,” she told him, “you’re not going to get anywhere by randomly grabbing them off the streets. They’ve had enough of that already and will only fear and distrust you _more_.” She shook her head. “They thought the Snipers had recruited you,” she muttered.

Tony wasn’t used to feeling helpless. “What do you suggest?” he asked, ignoring her comment about the gang. Perhaps he hadn’t gone about things quite the right way.

Her gaze was uncompromising. “I suggest you talk to someone who’s already spent time with them and has a decent chance of predicting what will make them feel safe and at home. Not me though,” she added firmly as she took a step back.

“Why not you?” demanded Tony with curiosity.

“Because I won’t be here long enough to make a difference,” she informed him tartly before taking off into the air.

“She keeps saying that, but I’m not sure what it really means.” Tony turned to see—Deadpool. The merc shrugged. “We won’t know until it’s important. And, hey, Peter’s at work today.”


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter returns to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So--once upon a time I had a pair of lovebirds that are, sadly, gone now. Periodically they would do this weird thing where they would tuck their wings high on their backs and just--hold them there. The muscles would twitch under the feathers. To this day, I have no idea why they did that.

Peter stared at his ID in horror as a loud alarm suddenly sounded through the building resulting in him getting mobbed by security guards who tackled him to the ground. His glasses went flying off and one of the guards stepped on them; he could see the incident with his all too good vision, and he winced. Getting another pair wasn’t going to be easy, not with _his_ budget.

Aside from that; what was going on? Why had the mere act of scanning his ID caused him to be attacked? Where did all of these security people come from? He didn’t recognize most of them.

He blinked at the sudden cessation of the alarm and wondered, for one moment, if he’d actually gone deaf before he heard Pepper speak. “All right, let him up. It’s the real Peter.”

“Are there fake Peters walking around?” asked Peter warily. They’d had a problem with one of the “experiments” on the floor that Peter was currently working on walking around taking the images of different employees. He hadn’t been working for SI at the time, but everyone still talked about it. One of the guards handed him his broken glasses and he stared mournfully at them.

“No, Tony’s just being a dick to Deadpool again,” Pepper explained as she tapped something on her tablet. The same security guard that handed him his glasses helped him stand up.

“I thought that’s why he has cats on his desk,” Peter complained as he looked up at Pepper, his vision sharpening to see every line of her makeup and the rims of her contacts.

“Speaking of cats,” a voice behind him asked, “how long do the eggs incubate?”

Peter froze. He couldn't have heard what he thought he did. He turned to see—Angel. With his sight unhindered by the glasses he could see that what he’d originally thought was fabric was intricately woven metal with an oddly luminous sheen to it. “What?” he asked. There were _rainbows_ in the metal—if it could really be called a rainbow when it was completely pink.

“Cats. How long do cat eggs incubate?” Angel looked at him, as he tried to keep from reeling as his suddenly exposed vision messed with his senses. He’d gotten too used to wearing the glasses to curb that—but Wade thought they were cute.

She wasn’t messing with him. She really wanted to know. “Um—cats don’t lay eggs?” he offered.

Her brows furrowed in thought. “You sure?” she asked. He nodded. He’d watched kittens being born, after all. From the corner of his eyes he could see Pepper nodding. He could also see security, staring open mouthed at the girl with huge wings that had managed to come into the building unnoticed. “Huh. All right,” said Angel accepting this information into her worldview, “what looks like a cat but isn’t a cat?”

Peter lurched to his feet. “Why are you asking?” he asked.

“Oh, the cat the street kids adopted laid eggs. A _lot_ of eggs—I think they actually have more mass than the cat.” She shrugged and a ripple moved through her wings, making the feathers shake even though the wings themselves didn’t actually move. He’d never seen that before. “I didn’t weigh the eggs to make sure; I didn’t want to rouse any protective instincts.”

“Good idea,” Peter said weakly.

“I see you know Peter,” Pepper said slowly, methodically, and in the same tone she used when she wasn’t yelling at a lab for a safety violation that blew something up again.

“She’s one of Wade’s friends,” Peter said.

“Yours too,” Angel informed him, and he blinked at the new information again.

“Right. Why are you here, friend of Deadpool?” demanded Pepper.

“Oh, I came to tell the heart problem guy that I found his pregnant girlfriend and she’s both fine and safe. A little frightened, considering his daddy’s goons tried to grab her off the street in full daylight, but fine all the same.” Angel calmly stood in the lobby, guns from the guards trained on her, as Pepper and Peter worked that information out.

“Harry’s here?” asked Peter in shock.

“Yeah, I found him collapsed outside of Oscorp and he said he didn’t want to be there so I brought him here.” He watched as the muscles of her wings trembled under the feathers while she shrugged.

Harry. Harry was _here_ , in Stark Industries, one of the leading inventors in the medical field. And Pepper, the reigning force to be reckoned with in the company, knew it.

How had Angel known? “Um,” he asked looking at her.

The very edges of the corners of her eyes twitched. If he’d been wearing his glasses, he never would have noticed the movement. She shrugged again. “Oscorp and Stark Industries are rivals. If one wants to screw you over, the other is usually your best friend.”

“Explains nothing,” Pepper said firmly.

Angel’s face lit up in a sly grin. “Of course not,” she said happily. She gave Peter a salute, waved at Pepper and the guards, and then left the lobby.

“One of Deadpool’s friends,” Pepper said hollowly.

“Yup,” answered Peter. He wondered how many eggs were probably “more mass than the cat.” He hadn’t had a chance to ask. He looked at Pepper. “Harry’s here?” he asked timidly.

“Yes. Deadpool informed me of the—circumstances,” Pepper responded with a glance at the massive amount of public staring at the two of them. “And we’ll replace your glasses. He’s on the twelfth floor.”

The twelfth floor. The one that housed the unofficial medical lab that serviced the Avengers when they were injured on missions. It was the best medical care in the world and Peter felt a knot of worry loosen in his chest. He hadn’t realized how painful it had been until it was gone.

“Give me your glasses,” Pepper ordered as she held out a hand. Peter silently complied. “We’ll get you a replacement in a couple hours. Now, go visit your friend, pass along the message, and go help Dr. Stacey. She’s having trouble making the matrix stable enough to stand on its own.”

Of course. They were going to use the organic matrix to make Harry a new heart. One that worked, which was better than the original one. So, the matrix would have to be able to hold its shape, not just on its own, but beating and pumping fluid through it. His mind churned wildly with ideas as he staggered over to the elevator.

The elevator activated itself to take him to the twelfth floor. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he said softly.

“You are very welcome, Mr. Parker,” the computer replied, just as softly. “I have already uploaded the prescription strength of your uncle’s glasses into Ms. Potts tablet. Please remember to run into things.”

Peter smiled. He’d told people that he’d hacked into the system—which was true. What he hadn’t mentioned was that he’d made friends with the personality of it while he was there. “Yes, thank you,” he said politely, and softly. He knew that JARVIS had turned off the recording devices in the elevator, but he also knew that the shaft was littered with more.

The smile vanished as he realized something. Mr. Stark wasn’t in the building, or he would have been in the lobby. He wasn’t in a meeting, or Pepper would have been with him. He wasn’t on an Avengers mission, or Peter would have heard about it. Where was he?


	89. Chapter 89

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha recruits help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought: why not make a posting schedule?  
> I realized: Because my work is unable to grasp the concept of actually having a steady, repetitive schedule.
> 
> Sorry.

There. This room was private enough. True, there was a body in the containment unit in preservation fluid, but the body was not reactive. It would would not hear the conversation and could thus be discarded.

“Not that I don’t love your ideas for dates,” Clint drawled as he perched on the lid of the containment unit and carefully used a permanent marker to give the body inside a long, curly mustache, “but is there any reason we’re here.”

Clint came across as an amiable buffoon. Natasha knew better. She’d seen him working, joking, killing, and utterly silent and invisible when it came time to collect intel. He reminded her a little bit of Deadpool—if Deadpool had the ability to die and a family to look after.

“Can you read?” she asked him.

The question was more valid than most would assume. Stark Tower had pressure points to it that rejected intruders with blindingly bright, fast flashes of light. Clint was well known to poking in places he didn’t belong and had gotten injured before.

“Since second grade when Mrs. Mac convinced me my desk would explode if I didn’t read the instructions for bomb defusment correctly,” Clint answered cheerfully as he finished off the second half of the mustache with a flourish before looking at his fellow spy. As the one who’d recruited her from her—original company, he knew she didn’t ask pointless questions.

She blinked. “You don’t ‘defuse’ bombs,” she said.

He snorted. “Find me a seven year-old who knows that,” he countered.

Normally she would have made a joke. But—that might actually be possible. She handed the file to him. After careful consideration she’d asked Pepper to see if another search could made of the SHIELD database. This file was the result.

“I need to brief you,” she said.

Clint turned to her with a frown, marker still uncapped. “This isn’t SHIELD.”

“This is personal.” She gave him the file. “Shield took over a HYDRA project, Project 23. It was designed to create superpowered soldier children.”

“That’s—horrible.” She could see the moment he realized why she was invested. He looked up.

“Keep reading,” she advised. She casually leaned against the inward opening door, just in case anyone tried to enter the room.

His eyes widened as he went through the papers. “This is—” he said as he stared at it.

She had read the file before handing it over and knew what it contained. “Yes,” she said softly.

“And this is—how? Why?” he stared at the papers.

Natasha didn’t know if he was freaking out over the detailed analysis of all the social interactions his children had at school, the meticulous details of each and every single bit of schoolwork, or their medical records. She was not entirely certain why, in this modern age, Clint had felt the need to vaccinate all of his children for smallpox, a purportedly eradicated disease, but that information should not be available outside his doctors and family.

She gave him a moment more to blindly leaf through the papers. Bringing Clint in was her decision; Pepper hadn’t been sure. Natasha was. She knew that there was _nothing_ more important to Clint than his family. _Nothing_ was more important to him than their health and safety—which SHIELD, by this project, was jeopardizing.

“They don’t need your DNA to make children,” she said softly, “because you’ve already done that on your own.”

“They’ve been studying my children.” Clint’s voice was hollow and she could sense the rage that was filling him.

Clint did not rage the way normal people, people like Tony raged. Clint did not scream, yell, or break things. Clint was more like Natasha.

Clint went cold. He went analytical. He went from mildly annoyed to vengeful in less than a heartbeat. His ice blue eyes met her calmly. “What’s the plan?”

Natasha nodded. His loyalty to SHIELD had shattered, just like hers. “We get the kids out. Get them safe. Tony has a plan.” Clint grimaced. She understood. “Pepper thinks it’s a good plan,” she offered.

Clint ran a hand through his hair. “That’s going to be a lot of kids,” he said. “Kids who are traumatized, have been injured.”

“Stark talked to Xavier about teachers,” Natasha offered.

Clint frowned. “He’s going to need more than that,” he muttered, wheels of a plan already turning in his head.


	90. Chapter 90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns more about Harry's artificial heart.

Peter ignored Dr. Stacey’s grumbles about how this project was nowhere _near_ ready for human testing as he threw himself into getting everything as ready as possible. It hadn’t occurred to him, back when he first started helping her with the organic matrix, that it could potentially be used to replace actual _organs_. If this was viable, if it worked—it would revolutionize the medical industry. It could save Harry.

First though, they had to make it work. It had to be stable enough to hold its form, even when the structure itself was moving. It had to be _able_ to move—there was no use in making a heart that couldn't beat. Then they had to figure out how to do all of that _and_ make it work outside of the solution that they’d made and in the artificial plasma solution, to mimic blood.

“Peter, can I borrow you for a moment?” Peter looked up from his formulaic calculations to see Dr. Banner in the entryway to the lab.

Dr. Stacey glared at him. “He’s _my_ assistant today!” she growled.

Dr. Banner held up both hands. “I’m not tying to steal your assistant,” he said as placating as possible, “I just need to show him something.”

“All right.”

Peter carefully marked his spot in the equations and made his way to Dr. Banner’s lab across the hall. “What is it?” he asked nervously.

Dr. Banner tapped his tablet and a display appeared on his screen. It was—Harry’s artificial heart? “I was examining your young friend, and yes—Pepper did explain the situation to me, when I found something interesting.”

“What is it?” asked Peter.

“The heart is perfectly functional. It doesn’t need a code to keep working,” Dr. Banner said calmly. He highlighted several tiny—protuberances? What were those for? A normal heart didn’t have those. “These,” Dr. Banner said in a vaguely grim voice, “are ports. They release neuroreceptors. Specifically, they release glutamate.”

Peter was no slouch when it came to his anatomical studies. “Isn’t that?” he asked.

“A chemical related to pain, yes. It would appear that what Osborn has been doing isn’t restarting a failing device, but rather shutting off those ports.” Dr. Banner shook his head. “I would just recommend blocking the ports, but that would be an exercise in futility. The device is manufacturing the chemical with each beat of the heart, and blocking the ports may very well cause a clog that could destroy the integrity of the device.” He sighed and pushed up his glasses. Much like Peter, he used his wrist to do so. “I’ll have to talk to Tony about it,” he said. “Mechanics are _not_ my area of expertise.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Banner,” he said sincerely.

The doctor looked up with a soft smile. His curls were sticking up everywhere. “Do you know,” he asked, “how many people know about my work with gamma radiation?” At Peter’s confused look he continued, “Not very many. Not even Tony is entirely certain what I do or what that means. And yet, the first time I met you as part of the supportive lab assistant group, you asked me a question about that very research.”

Peter shifted as he remembered the incident in question. Dr. Banner had gone to the supply lab for—something, Peter couldn't remember what—and Dr. Chambers had introduced him, which prompted the question. Then, after Dr. Banner had left, Dr. Chambers spent the next fifteen minutes explaining that assistants were not supposed to talk when high names were in the lab. He’d threatened to dock the already minuscule pay and Peter had never forgotten.

“Do not worry Peter,” Dr. Banner said with gentle firmness as he turned back to his tablet. “We’ll do everything we can to save your friend.”

“Thank you,” Peter said again—and then fled, back to Dr. Stacey’s lab. Dr. Stacey didn’t drop any indication that she remembered her first meeting with Peter with surprising fondness. She probably didn’t, considering that the first time they’d met she’d gotten covered in glitter slime that exploded.

Time flew as the two of them worked, trying theory after theory, solution after solution, and nothing was working. When Peter had to call it a day and leave (he didn’t want Norman to guess that he knew where Harry was or that he was no longer under the older man’s control) the organic matrix was still breaking down under movement.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dr. Stacey said grimly as he left. Peter could do nothing but nod.

He looked up at the sky as he started walking and realized that he needed to become Spiderman. The city might not need him, not with Deadpool looking after it, but he needed the city. More importantly, he needed to do _something_ that felt productive. He ducked into one of the blind spots of Stark Industries’s artificial intelligence and swiftly changed.


	91. Chapter 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Angel have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. To quote Angel from a few chapters ago, life sucks and stuff happens. I'm going to be offline for about a week dealing with stuff. Because being an adult sometimes sucks rotten eggs and I can't go into more detail because it's not my story to tell. I won't be back posting (or reading and commenting) for about a week. Maybe a little more; it's too soon tell. For those of you who just want something to read, I'll try and set up Surface to post a new chapter every day (I did get pretty far into it even if it wasn't far enough for submission). Sorry for the trouble, thank you for understanding.

“I give up,” muttered Wade.

[For a girl almost two meters tall with insanely huge wings, she can _disappear_.]

{People say the same thing about us. She did say we helped raise her after all.}

[I thought we agreed that if we had raised her she’d be dead—]

“There you are.” Wade turned at the thud behind him and looked at Angel. She tucked her wings against her back as she looked at him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

{But—we’ve been looking for _her_.}

“You have?” he asked.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I even stopped by Stark Industries, just in case you were shadowing Peter to work, but you weren’t there. I had to tell bad heart boy that his girlfriend is safe anyway, and I learned something interesting.” She calmly perched on the edge of the roof and stretched her wings out, feathers rustling slightly in the breeze.

“What did you learn?” asked Wade as he leaned against the door to the rest of the building.

“Cats don’t lay eggs.”

{Didn’t expect that.}

[Do cats lay eggs where she’s from?]

Wade thought that was a good question, so he repeated it. She shrugged. “I don’t know, really,” she said. “Pretty much all the animals I’ve interacted with where I’m from are pigeons, rats, slimes, and this bizarre pink fuzzy thing that keeps escaping its home dimension to follow Dr. Strange like a puppy. It’s about two stories tall, covered in eye-smarting pink fur, has three eyes, and fangs. Oh, and it sucks blood.”

“What blood?” asked Wade.

“Whatever happens to be trying to piss of Dr. Strange. It’s attacked Tony several times, but the fangs can’t get through the suit.” She curled her wings back to her body, but held them loosely against her. Her half braid dangled in the wind.

“Why did you think cats laid eggs?” Wade asked. He knew they didn’t. He’d been in Stark’s basement (not as creepy and gory as he’d hoped) and watched the cat give birth in the incinerator.

“Oh, the cat—or, well, the thing that _looks_ like a cat—the street kids adopted laid eggs,” she commented calmly. “Oh, and one of the kittens? On Stark’s desk? It went giant and green and nearly took off the hand of one of the people in the office that Pepper was pissed at. It was great.” The girl grinned.

Wade blinked. “What?” he asked, feeling like he’d missed part of the conversation.

“I might have stayed to spy a little. In my defense; I had no idea where you were,” the girl continued.

[And we’re back to the starting point. Why does she want to talk to us?]

Good question. Wade repeated it. She sighed. “Something is happening I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t know if this is a good thing, a bad thing, or an anomaly that I’m putting too much thought into. I need someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of.”

{Wait—and she came to _us_?}

Wade shared Yellow’s incredulity. “Why me?”

“Because you understand how I’m not from around here. Your mind doesn’t work like other people’s,” Angel explained.

Well—that was all true. Wade _knew_ that Angel was Not From Around Here in a way that other people didn’t, or couldn't understand even if she explained it to them. And even then, most of the people in New Amsterdam would just think that she was a crazy mutant and might even try to restrain her for her own good.

[I don’t think that would turn out well.]

“All right,” said Wade as he plopped to a sitting position, back still against the door. “Ask me!”

She slid to a sitting position, her back against the roof ledge, as she responded. “First,” she said grimly, “I have to give you some context. Do you remember me telling you how I came here on the RPG quest from Hel?” He nodded. “All right. I sort of found the person I’m looking for, but there’s something strange going on.”

Wade was basically the definition of strange. “Alrighty then,” he said as he slapped his knees. “Give me deets! Roll the gossip! What’s the down low?”

“Really low,” Angel said as she leaned forwards. “All the way from Hel, herself.”

Wade perked up. “Herself?” he asked.

Angel explained. She explained that, in her world, one of Loki’s children was his daughter Hel, and that she ruled her own underworld realm and seemed, from Angel’s descriptions, to babysit souls between reincarnation.

{Ask if Hel dressed like Bo Peep!}

[Do not. She has a serious problem here.]

Angel explained that the person she was looking for—that she now referred to as “BB” for some reason—

{I wonder what it stands for?}

And about the insane power boosts that “BB” got from stealing souls. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s like a shitty RPG; complete with evil boss to kill.”

“Not kill.” Angel scowled and, for just a moment, looked just like Peter. “I have to take her back—whole, healthy, and in possession of the souls she’s stolen or Hel can’t get them back and might not be able to fix balance again.”

That—actually made an absurd amount of sense. “So—what’s your question?” he asked.

“Why does she seem weaker in this world?” Angel asked.

{Um—what?}

Wade repeated the very good question. Angel explained. “The more of the souls she harvests, the stronger she is. The more complete her control over the people she’s turned is. At this point she _should_ be able to control people who are mere susceptible to being changed, whether or not they already _have_.”

“Makes sense,” Wade allowed.

Angel got up and began to pace, scowling, wings partially unfurling and then furling back into place as she moved. “Exactly!” she said triumphantly. “Except—she can’t. She can’t even completely control the ones she _has_ changed.”

“Um—what?”

Angel sighed. “BB,” she said slowly, “does this—thing. This thing turns humans into these bizarre human/spider hybrids which are then—or have been up until _now—_ in her complete control.” She sighed, and drooped a little, the wings hanging low.

[Fascinating. They seem to be an accurate representation of her mood.]

{Like a mood stone without the color!}

“I met one,” Angel said. “Daredevil and his—partner? Friend? Rival? Ninja assassin Elektra,” the girl continued, “were fighting it.” She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Although, they weren’t fighting it very _well_. Is it possible you could, like, help him with that before she uses her monsters to take over the city?”

[She has a lot of faith in us.]

{I thought Daredevil pinned us to a wall with our own sword last time we spoke to him?}

“Don’t think that’s feasible,” Wade said.

She shook her head. “I hope they don’t die. Anyway, the one they were trying—and failing—to kill _wasn’t being controlled_. It wasn’t even trying to hurt them; just move them out of the way.”

“Why?”

Angel met his gaze firmly. “Because they were standing between it and where it thought the children it had back when it was human are. Actually,” she added thoughtfully, “ _I’m_ standing between it and the children. And maybe Tony. Point is—it wasn’t under orders. It was working on its own. It’s _fighting_ her control, and it shouldn't _be able to_.”

“Because BB is now supercharged?” Wade hazarded.

{Why isn’t she talking to Peter? We’re barely following the conversation!}

[ _I’m_ following it just fine. The super villain's power is nerfed and she doesn’t know the reason why.]

“Have you ever been to a dimension that had a BB of its own?” asked Wade.

“Well—once, but only when this nonsense had just begun. And they almost killed each other,” Angel admitted.

“What stopped them?” Wade asked with curiosity.

“I did. I need to take BB back home _alive_ and in _one piece_.”

That—actually made sense. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “She doesn’t have the power she should, because it’s being shared. Maybe there’s another her, already here.”

Angel scoffed. “But that’s—” She stopped. Froze in place, like Spidey sometimes did during patrol when he realized something. “Oh, no,” she breathed as her eyes went wide at whatever revelation was spinning across her head. “I’ve got to go!” she said as she whirled and dove over the edge of the building taking off—towards Stark Tower.

Wade was about to go after her when he heard shouting and leaned over to see a situation at the bank across the street. Well, he assumed it was a situation. Normal days at the bank didn’t end with the building circled by police and Feds—and did he spot SHIELD in the crowd? Why would SHIELD be there?

{Seems a little beneath them.}

[We need to check this out.]


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha meets new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm back. A little sooner than expected, but I'm back. And writing this was a relief after having to deal with emotionally compromised adults unable to make the same decisions an uncompromised, sane adult could make. This is why I don't meet my family carrying any kind of weapons at all; I would have killed that bitch Deadpool style, been arrested, and would not be relaxing writing this. Also been binging r/entitledparents vids on Youtube. Bonus points if they include nuclear revenge. 
> 
> This, people, is why I live half a continent AWAY from the rest of my family. I love them, I really do, but too much time in their company gives me bloody thoughts and urges that I firmly, defiantly, and (probably) unhealthily squash down until I get to a screen where I can write a nice, gory scene to alleviate the stress.
> 
> Ahem. End of rant now. Please enjoy the chapter. (No gore here! Yet...)

“God- _dammit_!” Clint expertly dodged the hurled coffee cup as Natasha watched in fascination. She hadn’t known he could move that quickly. She hadn’t known the woman could _throw_ that well. The brunette gave another piercing scream and threw another cup in exactly the same place.

Perhaps they should have waited to tell her until after she’d finished doing dishes. Still, it was Clint’s decision. After all, she was his wife.

Natasha wasn’t entirely certain why they were at his house. It was, no mistake, a lovely little place in the country and part of an active farm that seemed to be both good cover and good exercise for the children…but it seem like quite the right _time_.

Clint disagreed. Since it was his family, Natasha allowed him to overrule her. She was beginning to wonder if he knew his family as well as she’d thought he did.

“Those _bastards_!” the woman railed viciously. She glared up at her husband. “I want to kill them,” she growled.

Clint took his life and his wife’s hands into his own. “Honey, I understand that,” he said softly, gently. “But Natasha and Steve and Bucky have first dibs.” The woman’s eyes cut to Natasha’s.

Natasha, groomed to be a fearless spy, took a step back. There were some missions that could not be salvaged. Missions where the only feasible course of action was to label them a lost cause and move on. Perhaps this was that time.

No. They had nowhere to move on to. Besides, the stakes were far too high.

Clint gently brought his wife’s attention back to him. “No, Honey,” he said firmly. “There’s something else. Something important that only _you_ can do.”

“And just what is that?” demanded the outraged woman coldly.

“There are a lot of children in this project,” Clint said. His voice was still soft, still soothing.

Once, Natasha had watched as Clint talked down a domestic terrorist. Somehow, over the course of the conversation, the person had transformed from a terrorist to a frightened young adult who ended up sobbing on Clint’s shoulder. She was beginning to see where he’d learned the skill.

“And?” demanded the woman when Clint didn’t continue.

“And Stark is trying to build a home for them, a place for them to actually grow up as normal as possible,” Clint continued. “He’s been talking to Xavier about caregivers,” he added.

The woman stared at him with incredulity. “Xavier,” she repeated. Both Clint and Natasha nodded. “He’s talking to Xavier.” Another nod. Her fury rose once more. “What the ever-loving _fuck_ does Xavier, mister ‘forgive and forget’ himself, know about traumatized children?”

“To be fair,” Natasha interjected, “he does seem to be raising some.”

The woman made a disagreeable noise, eyes never leaving her husband. “And how many of them have grown up to try and destroy or rule the world?” she demanded. “The man knows _nothing_ of how to deal with _trauma_!”

That—was altogether too true. Natasha remembered far too well the incident with one of Xavier’s prize students. The boy who had, before he’d even graduated, decided to make a place for himself in the world by taking over the minds of several highly ranked politicians in the city. He’d been stopped, of course, but he’d also only been one. Natasha hadn’t been surprised that SHIELD wanted to shut down the man’s school; it seemed like one out of every twenty of his graduates wanted to break the world.

Perhaps the world needed breaking. Perhaps Xavier was doing it on purpose, the kind old man act just that—an act.

Something to look into later.

Clint’s wife stepped away from her husband and stalked past Natasha into the recesses of the house. Clint grinned at the spy. “That went well,” he said amiably.

Natasha sighed. “And how are we going to explain this to Tony?” she asked.

Clint shrugged as he leaned against the counter, the definition of casual. “We’re not,” he said cheerfully. “We’re going to explain it to Pepper and _she’s_ going to tackle Tony.”

***

Adriana gripped the sides of her throne, staring into the darkness as she thought about what she’d heard. What she’d learned. What it meant.

She’d known she was weaker in this world. That, by itself, meant nothing. Her power grew and shrank between worlds much like the waxing and waning of the moon. It was natural. It meant _nothing._

Until now. She hadn’t realized how much stronger she _should_ be—or that this weakening of powers was something her pursuer didn’t experience. That was—bad. The pursuer was strong; too strong for Adriana to face when at full power—never mind the shadow of her power she had at the moment.

Then again, she _had_ learned something interesting. Several things, actually. Her pursuer didn’t know the nuances of her power. Her pursuer knew that she could turn some people into glorious creatures, but didn’t know that she could eavesdrop through spiders. Didn’t seem to know _why_ some people turned and why some did not.

No, it was best not to put too much stock in that. Best not to think about it too hard. After all, the pursuer was not above playing bait. Adriana had learned that the hard way and had almost gotten caught.

Her eyes narrowed and she cursed silently as her creatures rustled nervously around her, giving action to her uneasiness and irritation. The dim light, soothing to her sensitive eyes, only illuminated each creature for a fraction of a moment creating the delightful mirage of a seething army.

If only she didn’t know how weak that army truly was. How ruthless her pursuer could be. Except—they hadn’t been.

Adriana thought back. When they’d first begun this merry chase between the worlds, her pursuer had been cheerfully violent, slaughtering all of Adriana’s creatures without pause, restraint, or pity. The last few worlds though—that had changed. Her pursuer no longer hunted down Adriana’s creatures to exterminate them.

In fact—her pursuer was _actively_ protecting them now. Why? What had changed?

Why couldn't she use something more useful to eavesdrop on her pursuer? She had to flit from spider to spider and there was just no way of knowing when her pursuer was going to pop up. And even when she _was_ able to get just the right spider to eavesdrop—her pursuer never really spoke about what was going on.

Adriana rolled her eyes as she wondered where the typical evil villain plotting monologue went. It would have made dealing with the pursuer so much easier.

Especially since her pursuer had wings.


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman and Deadpool meet up at a bank robbery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I firmly believe that every Spideypool fic where the characters are known as "Spiderman" and "Deadpool" respectively should have at least a mentioned bank robbery.

Peter crawled up the side of the wall. The back wall, of course, that no one was watching. Despite television, movies, and even crappy Saturday Morning Cartoons pointing this weak spot out for authorities, nothing was done about it. No one noticed Spiderman silently climbing a wall.

No one, except for Deadpool. Peter didn’t even flinch when the grappling hook shot beside him to hook over the roof only to retract for Deadpool to pull level with Peter as he crawled. “Spidey!” called the merc happily.

Peter grinned behind the mask. Even before they’d started dating, he’d enjoyed his interactions with Deadpool. Well, after the first few times, at least. “Hey, Deadpool,” he called back.

Deadpool gasped. “Spidey knows my name!” he squealed—softly, so as not to alert the people in the bank.

“Of course I know your name,” Peter said, glad the mask was hiding how he flushed. Deadpool had no idea how well _Spiderman_ knew him.

A little niggling of a thought warned him that it would be better to tell the merc sooner than later. But—Deadpool had always looked up to Spiderman, ever since the first time they’d met. How would he handle knowing that Spiderman and dorky little Peter were the same person?

“What’s the sitch?” demanded Deadpool in a Serious ToneTM.

Peter simply looked at the merc with a smile, not that Deadpool could see it. “How long have you been waiting to pull that one out?” he asked.

“Early 2000’s? I think?” replied Deadpool.

Peter chuckled. “All right,” he said with a wry smile that, once again, Deadpool could not see. “The _sitch_ is three armed criminals, fifteen hostages with one of them being a baby with colic.” Peter cocked his head as he _listened_ , through the building and _focused_ on the robbers as Daredevil had taught him to do. “The baby is starting to get on the nerves of the criminals.”

“Not hard to imagine. You ever hear a colic baby? Stupid question, of course you have. They are _not_ fun to listen to.”

“What’s the plan?” Peter asked.

Deadpool gaped at him, completely silent.

Peter gently shook Deadpool’s shoulder. “You’ve been looking after the city while I was gone,” he said calmly. “You know it well. What do you think we should do?”

“I—don’t really _plan_ much,” Deadpool muttered.

“All right,” Peter said calmly. “If this was just you, how would you save them?”

Peter watched calmly as Deadpool stared at him. “No,” he said faintly, “I don’t think that will work.”

“Well,” pressed Peter, “what _will_ work?” He had a rough idea of the best way to defuse the situation, of course, but he wanted _Deadpool_ to come up with a working plan that made the best use of both of their abilities. After all, Deadpool had been watching the city for him for a while now. Surely, during that time, he’d come up with a better plan than waltz through the front door, drawing fire from both criminals and police, to use his inability to die as a way to keep the hostages alive.

“Okay!” Deadpool said manically. “It’s like this: you are going to sneak in and slowly, carefully get the hostages out unharmed.”

“Okay,” agreed Peter. “And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to dance De La Peters through the front door until everybody runs out of bullets.”

Or not. Peter let out a low sigh and hung his head. “Deadpool,” he began.

“Look.” Peter looked up as the antihero dropped to a crouch next to him. “Most important thing of a hostage situation?”

“Minimize casualties,” Peter automatically responded. He and Deadpool had had this conversation before.

“Exactly.” Deadpool nodded. “So, first—make sure they aren’t looking at the hostages. They notice their get-out-of-jail free cards leaving—”

“And the first thing they’ll do is start killing them,” Peter finished. He knew that; he’d seen it before. So had Deadpool. He sighed again before standing up and rubbing his hands together. “All right, let’s put your plan into action. Give me a few minutes to get into place before starting your distraction.”

“Yes, Sir!” chirped Deadpool cheerfully. His hand came halfway down, finger out to bop Peter’s nose, and Peter stared, frozen. Did Deadpool know? Had he figured it out?

Peter felt no fear at the idea. Instead—there was a bit of relief. If Deadpool _had_ figured it out, then he knew that Peter was Spiderman and didn’t hate him for it.

The hand stopped halfway and Deadpool awkwardly hid it behind his back. “Er. Yeah. Let’s get this done!” he said nervously before running off the roof.

He didn’t know. It was clear to Peter that Wade still believed that Spiderman and Peter Parker were two different people. The way Deadpool was worried about showing too much physical affection towards Spiderman while dating Peter should have been sweet, shouldn't have left a pinching, hollow feeling in his gut.

He quickly, silently broke into the bank. He had a job to do; hostages to rescue. Then he could change back into Peter and get his hug.


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade creates a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I blame SpiderKatana for this. That chapter in The Inverse about Hamilton influenced this chapter a million fold. So, song:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RutoivMEmCE&list=PLylGTB_ki_A0xXHvOEheHijqjCUUP5DQq&index=18&t=0s
> 
> The Inverse:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901540/chapters/34513938

[What were you _thinking_ Dumbass?]

{You know we almost never think.}

[You can’t just go touching Spidey while we’re dating Peter!]

“Guys!” Wade hissed. “Can we focus? It didn’t happen.” He made his way towards the opening of the alley so that he could be ready to distract. Mercifully, the voices were silent for a moment, allowing Wade to count down towards when he needed to be the distraction.

“This is a bad place for this.”

Wade turned and saw two people in disturbingly familiar suits in the middle of the alley.

[How have they not seen us yet?]

{Plot convenience!}

Wade silently ambled over to the two of them as they scowled at the brickwork. “The buildings would cut of dispersal,” one of the suits said.

“That would be okay,” the second reassured. “After all, this is only supposed to be a test to see if the product works as advertised.”

“God.” The first agent rubbed his face. “What happens if we raise objections?”

“In New Amsterdam? Well, people have been complaining the river level’s low…”

The two wandered off and Wade stared after them, eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound good. What could they be planning?

[Speaking of plans, Spiderman is probably waiting on us and wondering why we haven’t made an entrance yet.]

Wade, distracted, pivoted back towards the bank and grinned. “Let’s put on a show,” he said brightly.

[No.]

{Yes!}

“Oh, yeah,” agreed Wade, grinning madly.

[No!]

“You can’t stop an avalanche,” Wade burbled as he danced out in front of the bank, between the officers and the bank.

[NO!]

“As it races down the hill!” continued Wade as he spun towards the doors. “You can try to stop the seasons girl,” he caroled as he kicked them in, “but you know you never will!” Bullets riddled his body. Strangely, they were only coming from one direction.

[You deserve this.]

{Don’t be grumpy! It’s a great song! And you can try to stop my dancing feet!}

“But I just cannot stand still!” warbled Wade as he began to twirl.

One of the criminals poked both hands—empty--into the air before slowly following them with his head. “If we surrender,” he said, “will you stop singing?”

“Well, that’s rude,” commented a familiar voice as a strand of webbing came out of nowhere and hauled the criminal to the ceiling. “What have you got against _Hairspray_?” Spidey demanded before webbing up the other criminals.

“It’s all about the importance of being yourself!” Wade added as he knocked out another criminal. He peered into the bank. They were alone. The hostages were gone. Spidey had saved them all.

“What the fuck happened to _you_?” demanded the first criminal as he stared at Wade.

That was when Wade realized that the bullets had destroyed the majority of his suit. His skin was exposed to the open air, to the gazes of the people around him. Everybody could see how horribly mutilated the skin was.

“Deadpool,” called Spiderman. A hand touched Wade’s shoulder. Wade’s _half bare_ shoulder. “What do you need?” the hero demanded.

“Cover,” whimpered Wade as he tried to curl on himself.

Spiderman nodded and suddenly Wade was in a slowly hardening cocoon of some kind.

{...so are we about to be eaten?}

[What?]

{Well, spiders cocoon their prey in webbing, right? And right now _we’re_ cocooned in webbing. So, are we about to be eaten?}

[This is the problem with singing musicals. You just encourage this nonsense to spout.]

A light scratching alerted Wade to the fact that there was _still a world_ outside the cocoon. “Are you all right?” called Spidey, voice muffled.

“Not—not really,” Wade admitted. It had taken months of partnering with the wall crawler before he’d been comfortable admitting when he wasn’t all right. Most people didn’t ask.

{Bet Peter would ask.}

[Really? You’re going to go there? After asking if Spiderman was going to _eat_ us?]

“Could—could you take me to apartment?” Wade asked.

“Sure thing.” The cocoon rocked as Wade imagined it was lifted and he heard air whistling quickly by. The cocoon was well made; he couldn't feel the air rushing by. He heard the squeak as his window was forced open before the cocoon was very carefully put inside the apartment.

{Think this is how Daredevil feels?}

[For the love of the last shreds of our sanity _SHUT UP_!]

“Need me to rip a hole for you?” Spidey asked anxiously. “I’m not sure how long before this web dissolves; it’s a new formula.”

“I’m good Spidey,” Wade said firmly. “You go, uh, go finish patrol?”

A few gentle taps sounded on the top of the cocoon. “See you later, ‘Pool,” Spidey said with affection.

{Aw. Spidey cares.}

[If this is like our last interaction with Spiderman, then right about now we should be hearing—]

{You think Peter will be coming over?!}

[I think if he does we should tell him to go away again.]

{But—we _like_ Peter. And he likes us. Why would we do that?}

[Because our skin is exposed and our skin is a toxic waste dump that will make every single human who sees it flinch and gag at the sight of it.]

There was a moment of silence in Wade’s head before Yellow spoke up in a soft, almost silent voice.

{Peter didn’t.}

That was true. Peter didn’t flinch away at the sight of Wade’s skin. He’d even touched it! Had initiated a kiss!

“ _I see a man who’s gone through Hell and gotten back up and still has the humanity to care about other people.”_

That’s what Peter had said.

Peter—didn’t hate him. Wasn’t repulsed by the skin. Didn’t avoid him.

“Wade?”

Peter was in his apartment.

[It’s in the middle of a work day. Shouldn't he be doing something important?]

“Hey, Petey-Pie!” Wade chirped from the cocoon. He poked a finger at the soft, surprisingly strong webbing.

“Hold on!” Peter called. “I’ll get something to cut you out.”

[He’ll see our skin.]

{He’s already _seen_ our skin!}

Wade heard violent hacking at the outside of the the cocoon. “Baby, please tell me that’s not my best hunting knife you’re mangling on this web.”

A pause. “Um—what’s the hunting knife look like?”

Wade sighed. It was. “Just grab one of my swords and pierce. They’ll cut through anything.”

[Not vibranium.]

“Almost anything,” Wade amended. Shortly after that statement a sword was thrust in—but not deep enough to hit Wade.

[Almost like he knows where we are in this thing.]

“I heard you singing earlier,” Peter said.

[When?]

Good question. Wade repeated it.

“At the bank.”

Wade’s heart seized at the thought that Peter, his Peter, had been one of the hostages. No—he was a photographer. Surely he’d only been there to take pictures. “Were you—in the bank?” asked Wade carefully.

The sword swept up making a cut. It looked like Peter was trying to cut a small hole in the cocoon. “Yeah,” the younger man admitted.

Peter had been in the bank. Peter had been in danger. And, like an idiot, he hadn’t checked, hadn’t looked, hadn’t _seen_.

{He could have been killed.}

Once again oblivious to Wade’s inner turmoil, Peter continued to speak. “I didn’t hear much of it, but I liked it. What’s the name of it?”

“You Can’t Stop the Beat,” Wade said weakly. “It’s from a musical.” The sword finished its circle. “From _Hairspray_ ,” he added lamely as the the circle is lifted away and a beam of pure light enters the cocoon.

{There’s a metaphor in there somewhere…}

[Hello lampshade.]

Peter’s face blocked the light. “Wade?” he asked. “I’m going to cut down to try and get you out.”

“Ah, um, uh—yeah. Before you do that—would you please get me a mask? I have spares in my dresser.”

A hand reached in and gently caressed Wade’s slightly exposed cheek. “If you want,” agreed Peter before pulling away.

Wade leaned forward, resting his head on his knees. He wanted to tell Peter how grateful he was that the other didn’t insist on Wade baring his skin. He knew Peter liked seeing it, yes. But—Peter was understanding enough to understand that Wade couldn't give up his mask—not just yet. He wasn’t quite ready for Peter to see his face.

“Wade? Why do you have fifty-seven masks in your drawer?”


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Angel have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life sucks.

“And Dr. Banner’s been avoiding the organisms,” the random scientist said.

Tony stared at the man as he gently pet the kitten in his lap, feeling vaguely like a cartoon villain staring down a nameless henchmen. Of course the man had a name, but Stark Industries hired so many scientists that it was normal Stark didn’t recognize this one. “Of course Bruce is avoiding them,” Tony said. “They make him agitated and we don’t want Bruce agitated.” He looked down at the little kitten, fondly named Hulk2, whom they _also_ didn’t want to agitate.

The scientist in front of him sniffed derisively. “They make everyone nervous.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his head with one hand. “You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked wearily. At the man’s hesitant nod he sighed again.

_Tap tap tap._

“Go ask one of your predecessors why we don’t get Bruce agitated,” he ordered. The scientist was not looking at him, but staring, mouth gaped, out the window. Tony swiveled his chair around to see—the same strange bird girl that he saw earlier, when he was trying to talk to the street child. Hovering outside his window. She tapped on it again.

“Wha—what?” stammered the scientist.

Tony rolled his eyes. How, just how did he have people working for him who got freaked out by the most mundane of things? He gently deposited Hulk2 on the desk before getting up and opening the window. “Birds don’t hover,” he said as the girl dropped most of her body through the window, leaving the majority of her wings outside it.

She shrugged as the scientist plastered himself against a wall,  gaping at her. “I’m not a bird.” Her head tilted slightly as her eyes narrowed. The scientist quickly ducked out of the room, almost knocking Pepper over as she came in.

“What is wrong with him?” demanded Pepper as she stepped into the room. She paused for a moment, eyes narrowed at Tony’s latest visitor. Tony knew she was going through a checklist of clothing in place, age, and distance between the girl and Tony. Which—Tony couldn't say he didn’t deserve. “And who are you?” demanded Pepper crisply.

The girl wasn’t phased in the slightest. “I go by Angel these days.”

One of Pepper’s eyebrows arched up. “Not your real name?” she asked.  Tony, enjoying the confrontation, sat back down and picked the kitten up again.

The girl shrugged again. “Names have power,” she replied calmly.

“Really?” drawled Pepper dryly.

“Okay, why are you here?” Tony said, interrupting. The company could survive a cranky Tony, but stocks would plummet if Pepper was upset.

“I came to talk to you about that project you were working on earlier.” The girl’s eyes were narrowed as she watched Pepper. “The one in the alley.”

Pepper turned and  locked the door before typing a code on her Starkpad to seal the room from sound—from the inside. Sound could still escape from the open window, but Tony wasn’t about to invite the girl even further in. He didn’t quite trust her.

The girl gave a low whistle of appreciation and he stared at her.  She couldn't possibly know what they’d done. Could she? “Now,  _that_ is impressive,” the girl said.  “You’ve neatly cut off all sound from this—why is there an invisible kitten on your desk?”

Tony blinked as the girl’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

The girl stood up and came into the room, tucking the huge wings behind her as she stalked towards the desk. “I can hear it,” she said with a slight frown as she circled the thing. “I can smell it. But I don’t see it.”

“You can smell if there’s a kitten on the desk? How do you know you’re not smelling the one on Tony’s lap?” demanded Pepper.

“Same way I know you had a peppermint in addition to peppermint chocolate latte with six shots of espresso,” the girl shot back. Her hand darted over the desk and dropped, coming to a stop a few inches above the surface.

The desk began to purr.

Tony stared. There was no kitten there. He could see no kitten there. But there was, undoubtedly, a kitten purr coming from thin air. The air rippled, like a heat haze, and a tabby kitten appeared, leaning into the girl’s fingers as she pet it before releasing a high pitched mew and trotting over to its mother. “Huh,” the girl said looking after the kitten. “Is that normal?” she asked. “Do cats normally have powers?”

Tony stared at her. She—wasn’t kidding. She was oddly earnest about it. “Don’t you know?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding?” she demanded. “I’m still trying to figure out what laid eggs in the sewers!”


	96. Chapter 96

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed this through a splitting headache, so let me know if you see errors. Otherwise--enjoy!

Wade stared at the small townhouse with trepidation. He could still hear echoes of laughter from his last visit and vaguely remembered that the woman had said that she liked him better than Tony. Of course, she _had_ broken Tony’s arm, _and_ was disappointed that Tony had full use of said arm.

{She also likes us better than Norman!}

[I don’t think that’s hard. She probably likes the sewer rats better than Norman.]

Wade shuddered at the image.

Peter absently pat his arm, so as not to disturb the cake that Wade was holding. “It’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Oh, the turtle’s in the window.” Wade’s eyes tracked to the window closest to the front door and saw that there was, indeed a stuffed turtle in it. The turtle was green with a yellow shell and looked fuzzy.

“What’s important about the turtle?” asked Wade as Peter put a gentle hand on his arm and guided him towards the back of the house.

“Means the front door’s blocked. She does metal art sculptures with recycled materials,” Peter explained as they walked through the tiny yard.

[Would have been good to know earlier.]

{Well, it’s not like we _told_ him we were going to visit his aunt.}

[What?]

{He couldn't have told us about the turtle earlier, because we didn’t tell him we were going to see his aunt.}

[You are so strange.]

The back door opened to reveal the smiling face of the woman he’d seen earlier. “Peter!” she called holding open her arms. “It’s good to see you!” she said as she hugged her nephew.

“It’s good to see you too,” Peter said warmly. He pulled away and put his hand back on Wade’s arm. “Aunt May, this is my boyfriend, Wade.”

“It’s nice to see you again Wade,” the woman said, still holding the smile.

[I can’t tell if she’s lying, to spare Peter, or if she’s serious.]

“Nice to see you again,” Wade echoed. He held out the baked good in his hands. “We brought cake. Glazed lemon pound cake,” he added.

Her entire face twitched. “That is—so sweet,” she said in a strained voice.

{What did we do? Is she allergic to lemons? Oh, God, did we almost murder Peter’s _mother_?}

Peter sighed. “I didn’t have anything to do with cooking it, Aunt May,” he reassured the woman.

Who sagged with relief. “Thank God. I still remember the horror that was chicken noodle soup.”

“I was ten!”

“You put six heads of garlic in it!”

“Garlic is good for you!”

“The soup came from a can, Peter. A. _Can_. Trust me, it had all the garlic it needed.”

“You ate it,” said Peter petulantly as Aunt May reached for the cake. “And I never made that mistake again,” he added quickly.

[I wonder what other mistakes he’s made.]

{If he’s made that many mistakes, then his cooking should have improved, right? Why hasn’t it?}

[Do NOT ask him that!]

Wade surrendered it and then curled up around Peter. “Yes, and I was sick for an extra two weeks,” agreed the woman as she turned and entered the house.

Peter sighed and hung his head. “We can still go,” he said as he looked up at Wade.

Wade curled around him again. “But then I’ll miss on your embarrassing stories!” he whined.

Peter chuckled and the two of them followed Aunt May into the house. “Can’t have that,” he teased.

{I love him!}

[We all love him. You’re not special.]

Once inside Peter and Wade sat on the couch while Wade peered over at the front door to see the metal thing blocking the door. It looked like there were now colored bits of metal all over. Peter looked to see what he was looking at and grinned. “So, what pot did you ruin to make the bismuth crystals?” he called out to his aunt, who was in the kitchen cutting the cake so that they could all have some.

“Same one as last time,” Aunt May called back as she came into the living room with three plates. Each plate had a fork and, oddly, a strawberry.

“Thank you,” said Wade remembering manners he had learned somewhere. Peter gently nudged him with a shoulder and grinned. Wade grinned as he nudged back.

Aunt May looked on with a satisfied smile. She neatly cut a bite of the cake with her fork and ate it, not looking away from the two on her couch. “How’s work, Peter?” she asked.

Peter brightened and began chattering away about matrices and stability and a bunch of other things that flew right over Wade’s head.

[I wonder if she actually understands what he’s saying or if she’s just letting him ramble.]

{He’s so cute! Look at how enthusiastic he is!}

“How did you and Deadpool meet?” Aunt May asked.

Peter frowned. “Wade, Aunt May. His name is Wade. You literally _just_ used his name!”

Aunt May smiled. “I didn’t ask how you met _Wade_ ,” she continued patiently. “I asked how you met _Deadpool_.” Peter glared at her as he pushed his glasses up with his wrist.

{What’s happening?}

[I’m as confused as you are.]

Aunt May turned to Wade, breaking the staring match. “I have some lemonade that will go well with the cake,” she said calmly, as though she hadn’t just been staring Peter down about—something. “Would you like a glass?”

Wade glanced at his untouched cake. It was untouched because he didn’t want to push the mask up. “I’m okay,” he told her firmly.

Peter, understanding the problem, leaned into Wade’s side. Aunt May simply nodded. “Peter, she said firmly, “come help me with dishes.” She picked up her plate and Peter grabbed his own before heading into the kitchen with her.

[She doesn’t want us to hear what she’s going to say to him.]

{We should eavesdrop! That way—what’s that?}

Wade went to the window and peered out at the neighborhood before giving a mental groan. There, on the house across the street, with a perfect visual scope of the one he was in, was a figure lying on the tiles of the roof.

[Can you still call it camouflage when it’s a different color than the roof it’s on?]

{Brown! Brown on black tiles! I swear, standards for snipers are so _low_.}

So, who was the sniper working for? They weren’t from HYDRA, because those fuckers knew how to camouflage themselves—otherwise they wouldn't have been able to hide within SHIELD for so long. Ah—must be SHIELD. Only SHIELD could be so bad at camouflage and still be in operation.

Wade pulled out his phone and made a call. When it was picked up he growled, “Pull your sniper out of the neighborhood.”

“There’s a sniper in the neighborhood?” Wade turned to see Peter.

Wade shifted. He didn’t want to get Peter involved in this, but he already was. It was his aunt’s house that was being targeted after all. He nodded.

Peter’s expression darkened. “What house?” he demanded. Wade pointed and then Peter gestured towards Wade’s phone. “May I?” he asked. Fascinated, Wade handed the phone over. “You have five minutes,” Peter said grimly, “to get your sniper out of my neighborhood or I’m calling Mrs. Salinzky and telling her I see her cat on the roof before going out to take pictures of the old woman yelling at your sniper for killing her cat. Then I will submit the encounter to _every news_ , from paper to television to independent blogger, asking why you felt the need to harass an elderly woman with dementia.”

[Oh. My. God. Peter’s a force to be reckoned with!]

{That’s so _hot_! Think he’ll be up for some cuddling later?}

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Parker,” the tinny voice came over the phone. The sniper across the street flung back his cover and began packing up. “May I come and make a formal apology?”

“Might be a good idea,” Peter admitted darkly. “Front door’s blocked.” He calmly hung up and handed the phone back to Wade. “What could they want?” he muttered as he leaned against Wade’s side.

Wade tucked his phone back into his pocket and hugged his boyfriend. “I don’t know,” he answered with complete honesty.

There was a knock at the back door and Aunt May allowed the individual there to come in. Wade stiffened as he glared at the balding man in his distinctive three-piece suit. “Coulson,” he spat darkly.

“Wilson,” said the man amiably. He looked at Peter. “Sorry to bother you Mr. Parker. We were—concerned about Deadpool’s activities.” The man smiled. “Just want to keep the neighborhood safe.”

“It’s always important to keep the neighborhood safe,” Aunt May agreed. “Please, take a seat.” Coulson sat and, not to be outdone, Wade did too, Peter following. “Would you like some lemonade?” asked the woman pleasantly.

“If you would be so kind,” Coulson said with a smile. Aunt May smiled and bustled off while Coulson turned his attention to Peter.

[I don’t like the way he’s looking at him.]

{Petey is _ours_.}

“Well, Peter,” Coulson said slowly as Deadpool tucked himself around his boyfriend, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Unfazed Peter used his wrist to shove the glasses back into place on his face. “Have you?” he asked. “Agent Coulson.”

“And how did you know that?” asked Coulson with an easy smile.

Peter did not smile back. In fact, he bristled and Deadpool could feel it. “Wade called you by name,” he said.

Wade. That was right; he was _Wade_. Peter’s boyfriend. He shook himself and Peter leaned back into his embrace.

Coulson, the bastard, watched the whole thing. “ _Wade_ ,” he said emphasizing the name and not title, “didn’t call me ‘agent’.”

Peter sighed. “You are not wearing a uniform. I know all of the detectives in this section of the city, since one of them lives down the street and has been regularly throwing barbecues for his fellow officers and detectives since before I lived here. So you are not a detective, or I would already know you. That leaves ‘agent.’ I don’t yet have enough information to realize if you are FBI, CIA, or SHIELD, but you are definitely an agent.”

The man nodded. “That’s a good deduction,” he admitted.

Peter gave a low snort. “Trust me,” he said, “I only _look_ stupid.”

“ _The spandex only makes me look stupid.”_

Almost the exact same phrase. One was Peter. One was Spidey. Except—

{They’re the same! Oh, thank the good heavens, Petey-Pie and Spidey are the _same_!}

Wade’s mind quickly sifted through all of his interactions with Peter. The way, when they were first eating back to back, that he’d been reminded of Spiderman. The way that Spiderman and Peter were never in the same place at the same time. The way that if Spiderman left Wade in an uncomfortable situation _Peter_ would show up to help (and maybe tease him about the insane number of masks in the drawer, but Wade still had issues about his skin). They were _the same person_.

[Do you even know what this means?]

{Of course I do! It means we can cuddle Spidey any time we want and not feel bad about it!}

[It means he’ll hate us.]

Both Wade and Yellow paused in their internal excitement as they felt the first tendrils of dread. What did White mean? Why would Peter hate them?

[He spent so much energy _hiding_ his identity and then we, the most unstable person he knows, figures it out? He’ll never forgive us.]

{But—but what can we do?}

[Pretend we don’t know and wait. He’ll either tell us eventually, or not.]

Wade wasn’t sure he could do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8KYZHMkTHw
> 
> Just in case you're curious about the bismuth crystal thing. :)


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Coulson.

Peter glared at the man, at _Agent Coulson_ , who was sitting in his aunt’s chair by the couch. He knew the man from SHIELD’S attempts to recruit Spiderman, which was something _Peter_ wouldn't have known. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was a coincidence that the man had showed up here, now, at the home of someone he cared about.

“I’m not sure you’re aware of this,” Agent Coulson said, “but your—friend here has a long list of offenses.”

Peter glared as Wade stiffened, reading the threat for what it was. “Boyfriend,” Peter corrected firmly. The new glasses, being slightly too large in frame, slid down again and he pushed them up in irritation. At the surprised look on the older man’s face Peter repeated, “Wade is my _boyfriend_ , Agent Coulson.”

“Boyfriend,” the agent allowed to stand. “Although I’m sure your—boyfriend has other things he needs to talk about? Things he doesn’t want you to hear?”

It wasn’t about Spiderman. Coulson being here, in Peter’s aunt’s house as Peter was visiting, really was a coincidence. He didn’t want anything to do with Spiderman, at this point in time. He wanted Wade.

Peter was _furious_ . He thought he’d been upset when Coulson had hinted that Spiderman needed the support of SHIELD to continue operating in New Amsterdam. He thought he’d been upset when he discovered that, somehow, SHIELD had hooks in almost every other hero of the city—but that was _nothing_ compared to the realization that Coulson had come—here, to Peter’s _childhood home—_ to badger Peter’s _boyfriend_.

Wade stood up.

“Sit down, Wade,” Peter ordered. Wade sat. Peter waited a beat for Coulson to realize that the supposedly unpredictable murderer was taking orders from Peter. A second beat for Coulson to realize that Peter was perfectly aware of his position.

Norman may have been a greedy psychopath, but there was a reason he was the head of one of the largest global corporations in the world. Peter may not have liked the lesson’s he’d learned from the man, but he _had_ learned them.

Coulson met Peter’s eyes, recognizing the young man as the power in the room. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Coulson warned.

“I,” said Peter grimly, “am protecting _my boyfriend_ , that _you_ are trying to take from this house, in a neighborhood you previously had a _sniper_ in, with _no reasonable interest_.” Peter met Coulson’s gaze firmly, squarely, and fearlessly. “You will _not_ come in here, casually threaten my boyfriend, and then have him leave with you.”

Wade, even before Peter knew him by name, had saved both Peter and Spiderman on more than one occasion. No one knew better than Peter how much the scarred man _cared_. No one knew better than Spiderman the demons that he’d faced.

And, if Peter had anything to say about it, no one was going to hurt Wade any more.

“I do believe you have outstayed your welcome here, Agent Coulson,” Aunt May said calmly as she handed him a cup. Peter recognized it was one of the to-go cups that she’d gotten when her favorite Indie coffee shop went out of business. “Here’s your lemonade,” she added graciously.

“Thank you, Ms. May,” Agent Coulson said as he took a sip of the drink. He smiled. “Your lemonade is as divine as always,” he assured the woman.

Peter didn’t even want to know how he knew what Aunt May’s lemonade tasted like.

Aunt May hummed thoughtfully. “You drive careful now,” she said firmly as she walked the man towards the back door.

When she was out of the room Peter rounded angrily on Wade. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly, lips pressed together between words. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again!”

Wade, even through the mask, looked confused. “Do what?” he asked.

“Don’t you _ever_ put yourself in danger to save me,” Peter replied. Quick as a thought Peter sat up and straddled Wade’s lap, glaring into the mask. With a thigh on each side of Wade’s lap and his arms braced on the back of the couch around the other man, he effectively pinned his boyfriend.

Unexpectedly, Wade’s expression softened. “Baby Boy,” he said softly, “ _I_ will heal.”

“No,” he said firmly. “No, that excuse will not fly with me. I don’t _care_!” Peter wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and leaned his face into the crook of Wade’s neck. “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he said plaintively.

It was true; he didn’t want to see Wade hurt. He saw enough people hurt. He saw the pain in Harry’s eyes, whenever Norman felt like jerking the two of them around. He saw the pain in MJ’s face, when she couldn't either stop or help. And he saw the pain the street children were in almost every single day. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw Wade in pain too.

“I don’t care if you’re having sex with your boyfriend,” Aunt May suddenly said, “but not on my couch. You have a perfectly good bed upstairs still.”

Peter leaned back and glared at his aunt. “Aunt May!” he protested, cheeks heating up.

“Don’t you ‘Aunt May’ me,” his aunt mocked. “ _I’m_ not the one straddling _my_ boyfriend on the couch.”

Grumbling under his breath Peter got back down to the couch cushions—but kept his side plastered against Wade’s. He didn’t want the other to forget about their conversation. “How much laxative did you put in the lemonade?” Peter asked.

Aunt May snorted. “Peter,” she scolded. “Do you really think I would put a _laxative_ in his drink? I don’t know what medications he’s taking!” She turned and looked towards the back door before turning back to her nephew. “On a _completely unrelated_ note,” she said with a sly grin, “do you have any idea how much powdered fiber can be dissolved in a glass of lemonade without changing the texture or taste?”

Wade burst out laughing as he cuddled Peter close. “I love you people,” he admitted.

Peter turned and smacked a kiss to his masked cheek. “We love you too,” he reassured his boyfriend.


	98. Chapter 98

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes exploring.

Clint groaned as the scent of the sewers pierced his nose. It was disgusting. The sewers always were. Why did he have to follow wing-girl into the sewers?

Because Natasha had the hard job of explaining to Pepper exactly what his wife was doing. Clint had expected Laura to call her old friends, all experts in various levels of trauma, to tell them what Tony was doing. He’d (only once) referred to her friends as a gossip circle, and information fairly _flew_ down the chain. It was expected.

What was _not_ expected was the response. Laura currently stood at the head of a group of no less than seventy childhood trauma specialists and had several more, who dealt with _specific_ types of trauma, on call in case they were needed. Apparently there were a lot more people who felt the same way about Xavier’s method of “teaching” that his wife did than he had ever guessed.

He supposed he _could_ have tried reigning her in—but that would only allow her own rage, at learning SHIELD had been keeping close tabs on their children, to fester. Bad things happened when Laura’s rage festered. Usually those things involved triple letter agencies.

“Why wings?” Clint grunted as he watched her pick her wings up so the feathers weren’t trailing the floor.

She heard him. “In my defense,” she said, “I didn’t know they’d take root.”

Wait. What? “Take root?” he asked.

“I thought they were costume wings and my fairy wings had just broken. I think I was six at the time.” She walked confidently through the sewers, as though she knew she was the strongest predator there was.

Clint had known agents with walks like that. Hell, _Natasha_ still walked like that. It proved one thing to him—the girl was trained. He didn’t know who had trained her, but she’d been trained. “You don’t remember how old you were?” he asked.

The muscles in her back bunched as she shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain how old I am,” she admitted. “I was made in a lab.”

The calm, casual way she said that made his heart freeze for a moment. He’d met children made in labs; he’d helped SHIELD save them. At least, he’d thought they were being saved. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Before he could figure out what to say she turned a corner. “Huh!” came the surprised exclamation. “There’s even more now.”

Clint rounded the corner himself—and stared. There were eggs, roughly the size of chicken eggs, suspended in some kind of clear goop all over the place. Hanging from the ceiling. Piled against the walls. The only place free of the eggs was a thin walkway. In the middle of said walkway was a ginger tabby cat with white around its mouth. It’s ears perked and it looked up, stretching and yawning.

The winged girl crouched and held out a hand for the cat to sniff. “Are you done?” she asked. The cat meowed and licked her hand before rubbing against it with a low purr.

“What is this?” asked Clint as he stared around at the piles of eggs.

“Honey. She’s the not-a-cat the kids adopted.”

Clint looked at the cat. It looked like a normal cat to him. Long thin, fuzzy tail. Fuzzy cheeks surrounding pointy teeth. Fuzzy paws that appeared to have retractable claws. “Are you sure it’s _not_ a cat?” asked Clint.

“Well—no,” admitted the winged girl. “But everybody says that cats don’t lay eggs, and these eggs definitely came from _this_ animal, so—not a cat.” She shrugged again.

Clint frowned. “You seem to be taking this well,” he commented slowly.

“It is what it is.”

“Hey.” Clint turned to see a girl, couldn't have been more than twelve, staring at him with the absolutely most suspicious look on her face before she turned to the winged girl. “You wanted a meeting?”

The winged girl turned and grinned. “Yes.” She jerked a thumb towards Clint. “He has something to say to all of you, and I am _not_ taking him to the Safe Place.”

The younger girl snorted. “At least _someone’s_ got sense,” she said as she turned.

“You know you love them,” teased the winged girl.

“Are you coming or not?” demanded the younger before she walked off.

The winged girl gave the not-cat another pet. “You have no idea what you’re in for,” she said, “but don’t worry. I’ll make sure you make it to the surface in one piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love being yelled at for things you weren't even there to affect at work? I know I do. I love it so much I'm actively searching for another job. Updates may stutter a bit.


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story time with Aunt May.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Job Hunting Website: You cannot create an account; one already exists.  
> Me: Okay. (goes through password recovery)  
> Me:(types in new password)  
> Job Hunting Website: This account has been inactive for over six months. Please wait for us to send the link to reactivate your account.  
> Me:...  
> Me:...  
> Me: Where's the link?
> 
> This is so frustrating. :(

Wade’s arm draped around Peter’s body as the smaller man curled up against his side while Aunt May talked. Aunt May sat in her chair, calmly stirring some sugar into a cup of hot tea, and said softly, “Phil and I have met before.”

“How?” asked Peter, clearly fascinated.

{I love how we can feel that question. Petey-Pie! You can rest your little head on our pecs forever!}

“When I first graduated nursing school,” Aunt May said slowly, “I joined a group called Help All.”

Wade winced. He’d heard far too much about that group.  How they used the good natures of the young adults they tricked into working for them to drum up funds for expeditions that were little more than human trafficking research groups.  Francis had gotten some of his subjects from them.

Aunt May nodded at Wade. “ _You_ know,” she said.

Peter looked up at him. Wade swallowed; he didn’t want to tell his boyfriend that his aunt had, however inadvertently, worked for a human trafficking group. “It was—uh, bad. They used legitimate people as a front for human trafficking,” he said curtly.

[Yes. Let’s spare him the gory details.]

“They pulled naive and stupid college kids who wanted to make the world a better place to act as the front of their operation as they scoped people out. The _lucky_ ones were sold. The _unlucky_ ones were chopped into spare parts to have their bodies sold on the black market.”

{Does she  _want_ to give him nightmares?}

“Don’t look at me like that Wade,” Aunt May advised. “I do not hide the darkness of the world from my family.”

“Hiding and not telling everything are different,” Wade argued.

She snorted and Peter gently burrowed into Wade’s side, sighing softly as Wade’s arm came around him. “What happened?” Peter asked. “How did you find out?”

Aunt May took another sip of her tea before she put the cup down on the table. “Oddly enough,” she said, “it was SHIELD.  Well, technically, it was Phil, but he was working for SHIELD. They had asked our group to come to a region in another country, which I will not name except to say that it no longer exists. See, there were some serious natural disasters in the country, and there were a bunch of orphans. Smart little cusses that they were, the orphans banded together and hid on, and under the streets instead of allowing themselves to be hauled up in orphanages—where their very own government was prostituting them out.” She shook her head. “It was disgusting.”

Sounded eerily similar to what was happening with the street children of New Amsterdam, except that New Amsterdam’s children weren’t orphans, for the most part.

“SHIELD helped?” Peter asked.

{Aw! He sounds confused!}

[But  _why_ does he sound confused? All of that “SHIELDing humanity for the good of all” crap should mean that he trusts them.]

{But—his aunt clearly doesn’t trust them. Maybe she taught him better?}

Aunt May sighed. “Yes,” she said wearily. “See, they were the ones that took us to the country. They provided food, shelter, medical tools, Everything we needed to help these orphaned children get healthy. Strong.” The woman gave a low, bitter laugh. “They played us like the fools we were. Led the authorities right to them. And then? When we asked SHIELD for help? They sent us home. No explanations, no help, just deposited us on US soil with a note to remember we’d signed non-disclosure agreements.”

Wade could almost feel it when something clicked in Peter’s brain. “Is that how you met Uncle Ben?” he asked.

Aunt May’s lips quirked in a smile. “Not quite. See, one of the kids I’d gotten attached to had been taken for—bad purposes.” Her lips pressed in a thin line. “I won’t go over the details; they still piss me off and I don’t have room to vent until the you-know-what that commissioned that squid over there comes to collect it. So they took the kid.”

“And you went hunting,” prompted Peter, voice full of awe.

“Hunting?” asked Wade, startled.

Aunt May grinned. “Oh, yes,” she said firmly. “I went hunting. I hunted down the illegal side of Help All, did everything in my power to take them down—legally, I might add—while I tracked down that one kid. I’d gotten him traced to a barge in New Amsterdam when I met Ben—he was working his own case trying to figure out where all the children his team was rescuing from unsavory situations were coming from.”

“And you teamed up?” asked Wade as he snuggled down with Peter, who yawned.

Her lips twitched again and her eyes sparkled. “Hardly,” she said. “ He thought that I was a loose cannon. I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

Peter buried his face into Wade’s side and Wade could feel the smaller man shaking in laughter. He stared, fascinated. Aunt May—the woman who had raised  _Spiderman—_ had been a vigilante? Maybe it was in Peter’s DNA.

{Maybe he’ll share that DNA with us.}

[That was a terrible joke.]

“What happened?” asked Wade.

“I wasn’t as careful as I thought I was. I got caught, Ben managed to rescue both me and the children, and promptly yelled at me about procedure and the importance of backup at which point I shoved him over the side of the barge. Luckily, he could swim.” May grinned. “Now, Peter, you have something to do.”

Wade could feel Peter grimace before he pulled away. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Good boy,” said Aunt May with clear pride as he shoved away from the couch and left the room. “Now, Wade,” said the woman turning that piercing gaze onto the mercenary. “You’ve figured it out.”

No need to ask what. The only thing that he could have figured out, the only thing that would have given her that look, was that Peter was Spiderman. Clearly, she knew as well.

“ _Man didn’t know the first thing about my boy, and then told me not to worry.”_

Tony didn’t know that Peter and Spiderman were the same person, and he’d dared to tell Aunt May, who clearly knew, that Peter was going to be fine when he was in a life threatening situation.

[No wonder she hates him.]

{Why does she hate Norman then? I mean, I know why _we_ hate him, and why Petey does, but why does she?}

“I have,” Wade admitted.

Her lips twitched. “Do you see the joke now?” she asked.

He’d kidnapped _Spiderman_ to keep him safe. Wade’s own lips twitched. “I do,” he admitted.

“Good.” Aunt May grabbed her tea and took another drink. “Look after my boy,” she ordered.

“As best as I can,” Wade promised.


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yeah. It was type or break things, and I can't afford to replace things, so new chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Tony stared into the angry faces in front of him. He wasn’t entirely certain _why_ they were angry. He knew why the board was angry with him—again. He usually knew why Pepper was angry with him—almost constantly. But he was pretty sure that he’d never met any of these people before.

“Can I—help you?” asked Tony. The kitten in his lap arched its back and hissed and Tony quickly tried to calm it down. No reason to let Hulk2 loose on this crowd.

“Mr. Stark,” one of the women in the group said, still glaring at him, “we are here to help _you_.”

Tony stared at them, speechless. This—was not a situation he’d ever encountered before. What could they possibly want to help him with? Should he call Pepper for help? No, she was fielding a board meeting for him at the moment. “Ah,” he said intelligently. “Help me with what?”

The leader pursed her lips angrily before speaking in a carefully modulated tone. “With the children.”

“Ah.” Enlightenment struck Tony with all the force of a hammer. Somehow these people had learned about the home he was trying to make for the street kids and the children he was going to rescue from the facility. “Tell me how,” he ordered.

“These traumatized children will need psychological help,” said the leader.

“No shit,” replied Tony. He almost missed the lack of a laugh from the vents indicating Barton’s amusement. Almost. “They also need a home. They need _parents_. They will need, more than anything, _stability_.” Tony normally wasn’t that blunt with people—but if they wanted to help they would need to know what they were signing up for. “They need more than a couch visit twice a week,” Tony added firmly. “They need someone willing to be there, at _all_ times, for them.”

“You’re talking to Xavier!” accused one of the people.

Tony glared at the man. “Xavier,” he said slowly, “has people willing to _live_ with the children. People who understand budding powers, which these children most likely have. People who are able to fully and completely _commit_.” He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every person in there. “I won’t accept anything less,” he added firmly.

Hulk2 gave a high pitched mew and leaped onto the desk before delivering a lecture to the people assembled before Tony. At least, Tony supposed it was a lecture, based on the tone of the mews, even if he couldn't actually understand what the kitten was saying. After a moment the kitten stopped and tried to clumsily groom its chest.

It wasn’t the leader who understood what Tony was saying. “So you’ll allow us to help,” a woman in the corner said. The black woman watched Tony with narrowed eyes, braided hair pulled tightly against her head.

Tony met the gaze firmly. “I need all the help I can get,” he said. “But someone coming in half-hearted, trying to feel good about what they do without actually _doing_ anything—they don’t need to be part of this conversation.”

“You’re speaking from personal experience.”

Tony’s gaze didn’t waver as images crossed his mental eyes. Images of people who’d said they could help after the kidnapping, claimed they wanted to help—when all they wanted was a piece of the Stark Empire. No, he’d had far too many of _those_. He might not have rescued the children yet, but they deserved better than that.

The woman gave a curt nod as the leader spoke up again. “There are more things at stake,” the leader informed him grimly. “The children will need to learn how to deal with regular people, proper socialization.”

“They’ll have each other,” Tony said, confused.

The leader was not impressed. She glared down at Tony. “ _Proper_ socialization,” she said firmly, “means that eventually they will be able to integrate into society. They won’t, for lack of a better term, be forced with the horrible shock of coming out of their cocoons into the real world.”

“These are children,” Tony argued, “who already know the harshest parts of the real world. What they _need_ is love, respect, and affection.”

“You—”

Tony never learned what the man was going to say, because suddenly he yelped as a small fire danced up his trousers. The fire spread as a kitten shaped ball of fire streaked through the room before coming to a stop on Tony’s desk. The kitten gave a pitiful mew, the flames damped out, and then the mother cat trotted over to grab her errant offspring and haul it back to the nest.

Tony turned his mournful attention to the charred surfaces on his desk. “Is that—is that what you’re doing now?” demanded one of the people.

Before Tony could speak the door to the office opened and Pepper came in, cutting a gaze at all of the people gathered in it. “You do not have the authority to be on this level,” Pepper said evenly.

“This is insane!” shouted one of the people, not either of the leaders. “He’s developing mutant kittens!”

“I assure you,” Pepper said firmly, “the kittens came from their mother that way. And all of you have outstayed your welcome at Stark Tower. You can leave on your own, or I can get security to throw you out.” She smiled. They left.

Pepper sighed and made her way to the desk as she carefully stomped on the little fires that were still smoldering around the room. “You might need to add some heat resistant materials to this office, if the kittens are going to stay here.”

Tony looked at the bed the cat and her kittens were on. “What are we going to do when they’re cats?” he asked.

“Be grateful that we’ll never have to worry about rodent damage again,” Pepper said firmly.


	101. Chapter 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin and Norman have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay--I'm posting this to help alleviate some confusion. This Quentin is Quentin Quir, not Quentin Beck. As in, Kid Omega, not Mysterio. Sorry for the confusion; Stan Lee liked to recycle names.

Quentin sighed—internally. He, more than anyone, knew how unstable Norman was. If he’d had anywhere else to go—but he burned his bridges. For better or worse, he was on his own. “Mr. Osborn,” he tried.

Norman nodded. “Yes?” he asked.

How to tell your probably psychopathic boss who might be in the middle of psychotic break that his idea was stupid, dangerous, and might get almost everybody involved killed? “Mr. Osborn, there are a few—problems with your plan.”

“Oh?” asked Norman, his voice dangerously mild.

Quentin held back a full body shudder from sheer force of will. Norman was like a dangerous animal—any sudden movement could incite an attack. “First of all,” Quentin said with a calm he didn’t in the least feel, “Deadpool is insane.”

Norman makes a disbelieving noise as he turns to face the young man. This did not help Quentin’s state of mind at all. Having Norman talk while staring out the window was one thing. Elucidating his points to the full attention of the man was something else entirely. “Do tell,” Norman said casually as he leaned against his desk, eyes on Quentin.

Quentin severely hoped he wasn’t beginning to sweat. He couldn't afford to show weakness to this man. “The man simply doesn’t _have_ the capacity for normal thought. _No one_ can read Deadpool’s mind. Not even Professor Xavier.”

“Xavier is not as powerful as you are,” Norman pointed out.

No, but the man was much smarter. After all, he wasn’t here, in this room, with this man. “Xavier,” he said firmly, “ has much more experience than I do. Over the course of his career he has dealt with clinically insane people,” much like Norman, “and did so calmly. Deadpool’s mind makes him puke. I’ve seen it happen. The other thing,” Quentin added quickly, while Norman was still listening to him, “is his personal history.”

“His history?” asked Norman quizzically. He didn’t sound upset.

Quentin knew better than to trust that.

“There are certain habits that people recognize in each other when they’re dating. It’s called a ‘love language,’ and I don’t speak the one between Peter and Wade.”

“And?” asked Norman curiously.

“And,” stressed Quentin, “assuming I _can_ get into his head to do what you want me to, his previous history means that he’s liable to leap on _any_ discrepancy.” He took a breath and tried to sum everything up in a single sentence that would make the man _listen_. “If I do this wrong, there’s a good chance he’ll try to kill Peter.”

Norman was silent. Quentin hoped it meant the man was thinking over what he’d said, but he was afraid to peek. He knew his professor had first-hand experience in dealing with the mentally ill, but that didn’t mean he wanted to risk it. There was always a risk, peeking into someone's head, of getting caught with no way out again. The less stable the person was, the more likely that was. He didn’t want to risk getting trapped in Norman’s head.

He knew, all too well, what Norman had been doing _to his son_.

“Hmm.” Norman appeared to be thinking. “Let me try putting this another way,” he said. “If Deadpool, in his vast love for Peter, ever figures out exactly what we’ve been doing with his research the man will leave nothing in this building standing—not equipment, not the building itself, and the employees will be nothing more than various red smears in the halls.” Norman sighed. “I would _like_ to think,” he said with a touch of bitterness to his voice, “that Peter would never even think about complaining about his work here to his boyfriend. Loyalties to Harry aside, the boy has a strong need to protect the people around him. He gets it from his mother’s side of the family.”

Odd comment. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying that it’s change Deadpool’s mind or die, Quentin.” The man stood up, clasped Quentin on the shoulder for a moment, and then walked away. “Good luck,” he called before leaving.

Quentin leaned forward, pink streaked hair falling into his face, as he focused on _not panicking_. Norman clearly already had a plan in motion to get Deadpool to the building. That meant, barring yet another alien invasion (oh, please let there be another alien invasion) Deadpool was going to find himself locked up in a lab.

Quentin barely kept himself from falling into hysterics. He knew the fate of the _last_ lab that held Deadpool. And the one before that. And the one before that. And one of those labs, ha ha, had even done what Norman wanted Quentin to do: lock him in a happy world of his own devising.

Clearly Norman wasn’t caught up to the craters those labs had once been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Customer: (drops beer bottle making mess on the floor) Sorry!  
> Me: (proceeding to clean up said mess)  
> Customer: Gosh, you're cute. Are you single? Will you give me your number?  
> Me: I am cleaning a mess you made. This is not a good time to ask.  
> Customer: But I said I was sorry!
> 
> :/
> 
> Wish me luck with the job hunt, please.


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting between Clint and the street kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life leaves things so blah sometimes.

Ellie glared at the man standing by Angel. She’d seen him around the city, of course, but she didn’t trust. Neither did Angel. If Angel had trusted him she wouldn't have thought twice about taking him to the Safe Space.

Or would she? Angel seemed to have a unique set of boundaries that she wouldn't cross. Ellie wasn’t entirely certain what the pattern was to those boundaries, and it was possible that bringing someone to another person’s home was one of them. Or, it was possible she didn’t trust the man. Ellie couldn't say.

There was a lot about Angel that Ellie didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why the older girl took the time to protect the younger kids when she clearly didn’t need that protection herself. (Ellie hadn’t been sure of that one until she watched Angel effortlessly pick up a huge concrete block _with one hand_.) She didn’t understand that odd way that Angel would sometimes speak, as though she was talking _around_ something, the way that adults tended to do about sex stuff. Only—the things Angel talked around didn’t seem connected.

She talked around the Avengers, never calling them by name or even by the hero nicknames that everyone knew.

She talked around Stark Industries and Oscorp.

She talked around Central Park, never calling it by name. It was always, “the park.”

She talked around the authorities trying to grab the kids, never naming them by name.

She talked around the Kingpin. All of the street children knew about him (his men would feed them sometimes), but she never mentioned him or talked about him, but would talk all around his operations.

None of those things seemed to be connected. Of course, the kids had things they wouldn't talk about. Juby’s dad. Anna Marie’s mom. Remy’s aunt and uncle. But those things were all connected, all similar. There were reasons they talked around those people that all of the other children knew. Understood.

Maybe Yukio could explain it. She seemed to have a much better understanding of people than Ellie did. And she was nice to talk to. Didn’t insist on this “share your feelings” shit the adults were so fond of.

Ellie turned her attention back to the man perching on a box next to Angel. Angel was, as always, relaxed as she lounged in her spot. The man tried to _look_ relaxed, but living on the streets and frequently running for her life had made Ellie too good at reading body language to be fooled. He was nervous. The question was why? Why was he nervous about talking to a bunch of children that were no threat to him?

Ellie looked around the abandoned subway platform. There was an odd sense of satisfaction in having this meeting in their old home, while their new one was safe from prying eyes and visitors. “Everyone here?” she asked.

“The twins are watching Copper,” Remy said.

Well, they were attached to the young woman they’d rescued, even if Ellie wasn’t entirely certain why. “Good enough,” she admitted as she turned to the man, still sitting next to Angel. “Talk,” she ordered shortly. The man looked startled; Angel just grinned.

The man spoke. “O—kay then,” he said, clearly slightly nervous. The children watched him silently. “Stark’s building a house in the middle of nowhere for children he’s going to rescue from labs and wants you guys to start living there first so it’s not sterile when we get them out.” The man took a breath. “Stark is—”

“We know who Stark is,” Ellie said coldly. Her eyes shifted to Angel. “What do you think about this?”

“I think,” said Angel, “that I’m not going to give my opinion.”

There were surprised murmurs behind and around Ellie—but Ellie wasn’t surprised. “Because you’re not going to be here,” Ellie stated.

“Bingo!” cheered Angel, looking smug. “I’m not going to give an opinion, because I won’t be here to catch the fallout if everything goes sideways.” The older girl chuckled and leaned on a hand.

Some might think that she was amused by their predicaments. Some might yell at her for her callous behavior. Ellie noticed that the people who would do this were the same ones who thought sending her back to that “home” was a good idea.

“What do you recommend?” asked Ellie.

“Learn,” said Angel. She gestured to the man. “He’s right here, and I’ll know if he lies. Ask questions. Think. What are the benefits of moving to a new place? What are the benefits of staying here? Which is better for _you_?”

The man made a choked sound that both girls ignored. Ellie crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at Angel before sighed. “Fine,” she said grimly before turning to the man. “Well? What are the benefits to living in Stark’s new home for street children?”

“And lab children,” interjected the man. He laughed nervously, eyes a little wide at the solemn stares he was getting from the silent children around him. “Okay, it’s like this. Stark wants to make this not just a house, but a home; so there are going to be people—adults—to act as parents. But there’s also going to be teachers, because education is important, and shrinks, because hot damn, we adults need some fucking therapy after the shit we’ve been through.” A pause and the man coughed. “And the kids too, of course,” he added lamely.

“You also won’t know the lay of the land there like you do the streets,” Angel spoke up. “It will be a new place, a new _environment_ with people you don’t know. Whether or not anyone acknowledges it,” the older girl added as she looked around the group, “you know the adults of the city. You know who can be trusted, who needs avoided, and have escape routes _everywhere_. These are things you’d have to _build_ in the place Stark,” her lips twitched oddly at the name, “is building.”

Ellie could see all of that. Angel spoke nothing more than the truth. “And?” she demanded. “What are the benefits to staying here?”

Angel’s grin widened, clearly pleased with the younger girl. “Here,” she said, “you know the lay of the land. You have escape routes, you have plans in place in case there’s another alien invasion,” both of them ignored the choking sounds from the man, “and your safe place is almost self-sustaining. But,” Angel added holding up a cautionary finger, “it isn’t _yet_. And while it’s a good place to hide if things are crashing down from the sky, it’s not monster proof.”

Remy scoffed. “Monsters ain’t found it,” he said confidently.

“Monsters aren’t _looking_ ,” Angel countered. “The one controlling them doesn’t see you as a threat. As long as none of them actually follow one of you to it, it’s not going to be found.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” the man said, suspicion in his voice.

“Shush,” Angel said playfully. “This isn’t about me.” She turned her attention back to the children. “The downsides of this,” she added, “are that it isn’t self-sustaining _yet_. You still have to venture outside to get food. And food is something that the house being built will most definitely have.”

“Really?” asked a pitifully hopeful voice.

Ellie winced. Of course they were hungry. The fruits and vegetables that were growing in the safe place haven’t actually started producing yet. And food, as Ellie knew, was a powerful motivation.

The man standing by Angel didn’t look surprised at the question. Most adults would have been and Ellie felt a tiny prick of something that could almost be called respect for the adult who didn’t immediately gush at why such a question was necessary. “Not only will there be food,” the man added, “but it will _always_ be available to _anyone_ who is hungry.”

“I see.” Ellie stepped forward, blocking the man from saying anything more. “We’ll discuss it,” the girl told him firmly.

“What are you—”

“I _said_ we’ll discuss it.” Ellie’s eyes narrowed and the man took a step back, not wanting to press her. She nodded and turned to gesture the children out of the room. The man moved to follow him, but one of Angel’s arms grabbed him and held him in place while the children left. Ellie, seeing the movement, nodded at the older girl, who winked back.

Angel wasn’t going to make their decision for them. But, she was fair. She had worked to lay out both the good and the bad of both decisions.

Ellie followed the children out and back to the safe space. They had a decision to make.


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes out on patrol to give Wade and Aunt May space for a private conversation.

Peter felt a mixture of joy and worry as he swung through the city. Wind rushed by as he kept an ear out for trouble. Ears that still burned from his flush after what Aunt May had said.

“ _Because I need to talk to him alone, and I know you can hear everything from anywhere in the house or yard, Peter.”_

Peter hoped that Aunt May wasn’t giving Wade a shovel talk. He wasn’t sure how his boyfriend would handle it.  He knew that Wade might come off as a loud, blusterous guy, but he was sensitive. He also seemed to have some esteem issues. Peter wasn’t sure what to do to help, or even if he  _could_ help, beyond being—

“Help!” screamed someone in terror.

Without conscious thought, Peter changed directions in midair to see—a car racing through the streets? Pounding was coming from the inside, from both the front and rear seats. The car was headed right for a busy intersection.

Peter dropped on the car and peered inside to see the terrified visage of Mrs. Fisk and young boy who could only be the Kingpin’s son. Another glance showed that this was one of the new, fully automatic self-driving cars. Oscorp design, by the logo on the dash.

Thinking quickly Peter reached over and yanked off the two doors from the passenger’s side. “All aboard!” he ordered quickly. Both woman and child reached for him and he gathered them up before launching himself away from the car shooting webs to slow their velocity until they could stand.

There was a screech as oncoming traffic tried to brake to avoid the runaway car—and several metallic crunches as it failed, miserably. “Woo, that was close!” Peter said with a low whistle. The two he’d rescued from, going by what he could see from his vantage point, certain death were still shaking. Not unexpected. “Are the two of you all right?” he asked them gently

The woman’s eyes were open and kind of glazed over. “I—I don’t—know what ha—happened,” she stuttered, still pale and kind of waxy looking. The kid wasn’t in much better shape.

Peter hesitated. Normally he would take the two the hospital to get checked out, or wait with them until the police arrived. He would this time except—except that these were the wife and child of Kingpin, notorious leader of New Amsterdam’s criminal market. If he took them to the hospital, or waited for the police to come get them—they’d have targets on their backs. Chances were they wouldn't make it home again.

And, given the “work” that Kingpin did, Peter felt certain that the former wrestler was more than capable of getting them some “unofficial” medical care. “Come on,” Peter said shooing them in the right direction.  The kid was too focused on what had almost happened to think much of it.

The same was not true of his mother. “Where are you taking us?” she demanded.

“To your home,” Peter said gently. They’d both just had a major shock, after all. “It’s not safe for the two of you here.”

She grabbed the kid and held him close, eyes wide with fear. “You know,” she whispered.

“I do. And it doesn’t matter,” Peter said firmly. “Not right now. I just want to make sure that the two of you are safe, and your husband’s the best person to do that. Come on.” He gently shooed them.

“I know you,” the boy said suddenly. “You’re Spiderman.” 

“I am indeed,” Peter told him as they walked towards the Kingpin’s house. He wasn’t sure he was glad of how close the accident had happened by their home. On the one hand, he was escorting them for less time; on the other the accident seemed a bit less accidental.

“They talk about you in school!” the boy said excitedly. 

“Yeah?” asked Peter, intrigued. “What do they say?”

“That you’re a hero everybody hates,” the boy said. “I don’t understand why,” he added.

Peter tried to give the what the boy was saying due consideration. “Well,” Peter said, trying to be absolutely fair to everyone, “one thing that tends to happen in fights between two superpowered people is collateral damage. Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

Peter smiled at the blunt reply. “Collateral damage is the damage that occurs  _around_ the fight. Let’s say I was fighting the Rhino and he pushed me through a brick wall.” Peter’s ribs ached at the memory. “The wall—which was destroyed—was collateral damage. Now, the Rhino is in prison currently paying for the wall.” And Peter hoped the man could feel the price of every brick that had to be relaid because of the incident. “But, people think that I should be paying for the wall too, and that’s why a lot of people hate me.”

“But—you kept the Rhino from doing more damage,” the boy said, clearly struggling with the comment.

“I like to think I did,” said Peter wistfully.

“Oh. Is Daddy like you?” asked the boy.

“Hey.” Peter stopped and dropped to the boy’s level. “Your father and I might not get along,” an understatement for how he felt the Kingpin wanted to kill him, “but I promise you that there is _nothing_ more important to your father than you and your mother. Okay?”

The boy looked unconvinced, but said, “Okay.”

Fisk’s wife stared at Peter like he was an alien creature. Peter knew that look very well; after all, aliens had a tendency to invade New Amsterdam on a regular basis. “Come on,” he said shooing them with his hands. “Time for the two of you to get home.”

“Thank you,” Fisk’s wife said softly as they walked. She still seemed puzzled, but less afraid. Peter could work with puzzled.

“Not a problem,” Peter said cheerfully as they made their way to the house. Peter held back as they entered—only to be surrounded by a bunch of Fisk’s guards. “Gee, guys,” he said petulantly. “It’s late. Can’t we play tomorrow.”

The door to the house opened and Fisk loomed in the doorway, glaring down at him. “Spiderman,” he spat.

“Daddy, no!” said the boy as he ran up to embrace his father. “Spiderman saved us!”

Fisk looked towards his wife, who nodded, and then looked back at Peter. The look on his face was priceless and Peter gave a small wave. “Just doing what your friendly neighborhood arachnid does,” he said lightly before turning away.

He found his exit route blocked by another gunman. “Perhaps,” Fisk drawled, “our friendly neighborhood arachnid would like to come in for tea.”

The guard in front of Peter pointed the weapon in his hands, cleverly hidden by Peter’s body from the view of the boy and his mother, at Peter. “Well,” said Peter as he turned to head into the house, “since you put it that way…” He walked up to the door.

He walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier this year I found a color of yarn that I absolutely adore and have, periodically, been working to make myself a blanket out of it. One of my cats (I have no idea which one) decided to pee on the blanket. I have, therefore, spent way too much time unraveling the sucker to cut out the urine soaked bits so I still have this hard to find yarn to work with. This is my third time unraveling this blanket, and I'm starting to wonder if this yarn wants to be a blanket at all.


	104. Chapter 104

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade goes looking for Peter.

[It’s about time the plot wound back to us.]

{I don’t understand.}

Wade didn’t understand either and he stared at Aunt May, still calmly drinking her tea. How did this woman send her nephew—whom she loved—to go out patrolling just so that she could talk with Wade?  And then sit there calmly drinking tea?

The woman smiled softly. “Wade, you are overthinking this. Peter has been Spiderman since he was fifteen. He’s fought bullies, robbers, and alien invaders. There’s not much that he can’t handle in the city of New Amsterdam. I saw to that.”

“But you—”

[What does she mean, she saw to that?]

That—was a good question. Wade repeated it.

“Just what I said. After leaving Help All, I went underground. I still have contacts, something that J.J. better not forget.”

{Wait—is she talking about Peter’s  _boss_ ? The newspaper guy?}

“Jamison?” squeaked Wade staring at the apparently formidable woman in front of him.

Aunt May snorted. “ Did you honestly think the head of a newspaper office would take the time to listen to a scrawny kid who said he could get pictures of the new vigilante swinging around the city? Of course I made a phone call.”

Which meant—Aunt May knew what the bastards at the paper said about Spiderman. About  _Peter_ . And said—nothing.

[Well, this explains why Jonah  called her a monster. No wonder he’s so protective of Peter.]

{What do you mean?}

[Would you want that pissed off at you? Imagine what she could do…]

Wade began to fidget. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?” he asked.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Aunt May’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Are you anxious?”

“Of fucking _course_ I’m anxious!” Wade roared.

[We do  _not_ want this woman pissed at us.]

Aunt May settled back into her chair with a smirk. “Good,” she purred. “Go,” she added.

Wade didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted from the c ouch and ran out of the house—slamming into the giant squid metal thing because he forgot the front door was blocked.

“That door’s blocked,” sang Aunt May mischievously.

“Thanks,” grunted Wade as he shifted direction, already healing to head outside.

[Have you really thought about this? I mean, what if Peter gets back and we’re not there?]

{Yeah! How are we going to explain that?}

“Let’s just find him first,” grunted Wade. He looked down the streets. The problem with following someone who swung around the city with webs was that he could have gone in literally any direction.

{Stop dithering and just pick one!}

[Weren’t you the one just asking how we were going to explain to Peter why weren’t calmly waiting on Aunt May’s couch for him?]

{Hey, can we buy her a new couch? It wasn’t very comfortable.}

[Can you  _focus_ ? For five minutes?]

Wade picked a direction at random and jogged down the street swiftly moving from townhouses to huge apartment buildings. What if Peter—Spidey—was in trouble? He needed to find his boyfriend.

A hunched over figure let out a fragile cry and went down to one leg. Wade, new hero mode activated, jogged over to the figure. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I just felt weak,” the figure said weakly.

Shit. This person probably needed an ambulance. Wade dropped down by the person. “What happened?” he asked. “Do you need medical attention?”

He barely registered the prick as the needle slipped easily through the woven Kevlar of his costume and into his thigh. He  _did_ notice the rush of unknown fluid being injected into him,  and jumped back. Little colored bubbles began to pop at the edges of his vision as the figure straightened up.

“Thanks, Deadpool,” the figure said. Were those—extra arms? Coming out of the back? What? “I’m feeling much better now.”

Wade coughed and felt moisture hit the mask he was wearing as his legs folded up under him.

[Bitch poisoned us!]

“Don’t worry,” the voice said smugly. “It’s not permanent. But then, nothing is with you, is it?”

{Got…to…find…}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, before my stint as a convenience store night clerk, I loved Halloween. I ADORED Halloween. I started singing Halloween songs in bloody June (my argument being that Christmas started in July). If I find a job that's not retail will I love it again? Or is it forever tainted, like the donuts?


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter concludes his meeting with Kingpin and then goes back home.

Once again Peter found himself in Kingpin’s office, this time he was being offered refreshments. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, and he wasn’t sure that Kingpin’s wife knew about the ongoing feud between the two men. He certainly wasn’t going to risk unmasking, even if it was just enough to eat, in this house where the man probably had people just waiting to pounce on any little hint of Spiderman’s identity. But the thought was nice.

“You saved my family.” The man’s tone was tense, eyes narrowed. His body was ready to pounce, making the spider sense ping lightly.

Peter sighed. “Listen Kingpin,” the man flinched and Peter changed tactic. “Fisk. Whatever problems are between us,” and there were _heaps_ of problems between them, “they’re between _us_. Your family is innocent.”

The man glowered at him and once Peter would have mocked him. Made some snarky comment before leaping to the ceiling and crawling out of the house while the bodyguards tried to shoot him down. After all, this was the man who had no trouble selling guns to young teens, of trafficking drugs that made addicts go insane, who did innumerable horrific things.

But this was also the same man who ordered his men to take trays of food out to the street kids. The man who loved his wife so much he plotted a day of the most cliché dates he could think of. The man who truly doted on his son, and had given Peter the tools he’d needed to destroy Runaways Unite. Peter could not hate this man.

“Let me tell you something,” Peter said, earnestly. The hulking brute of a man in front of him watched him with suspicion, but said nothing. “The car going crazy as it did—I don’t think it was an accident or a fault of the programming.”

Fisk took a deep breath. “Go on,” he ordered.

“Those automated cars have almost a thousand safeguards against hitting _anything_ ,” Peter said. He should know; he’d helped Oscorp design the parameters for the things. “When they sense impending collision with anything larger than an empty fast food bag,” and that had been an absolute _nightmare_ to program, “they’re designed to slow, or come to a stop. It shouldn't be possible for the thing to _speed_ _up_ , not unless—”

“It was tampered with,” Kingpin breathed.

Peter nodded grimly. “I hate to say this,” he said slowly, “but your family needs a bodyguard.”

“You?” rumbled Kingpin.

Peter. A bodyguard. With all the people who routinely got kidnapped around him. “No!” said Peter panicked. “I’d be a horrible bodyguard!” The two bodyguards by Kingpin coughed lightly and Peter could tell they were trying not to laugh. A thought crossed his mind. “I might know one though,” he said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know if he’d do it, but I’ll ask.” After all, who was better to guard someone than a bodyguard that literally couldn't die?

“Thank you Spiderman,” Kingpin said heavily. “You don’t know—”

“I know what it’s like to to want to protect your family,” Peter said softly. “There’s a reason I wear the mask,” he added in a more lighthearted tone.

“Will you have something to eat with us?” Mrs. Fisk asked as she walked into the room.

“Thank you for offering,” Peter said, because he’d been raised to be polite, “but I have to get going.” He turned towards Fisk. “I’ll let you know if he agrees to it.”

“I could contact him myself,” Fisk grunted.

Peter mentally played through what would happen if Fisk approached Wade about being a bodyguard and grimaced. “Ah, yeah, maybe not the best idea. I’ll let you know.” He nodded, politely, to the Mrs. before leaving. He wanted to get back home, cuddle on the couch with his boyfriend, and maybe listen to some more stories about Aunt May’s early days. He’d never known the woman had once been a vigilante herself—but given her lack of reaction when she learned what Peter was doing as Spiderman it made sense.

What would Wade say? Would he be happy to learn that his boyfriend was really the wall-crawling hero he admired? Or would he feel hurt that Peter hadn’t told him sooner? He didn’t know.

He was shocked to find that Wade was gone when he got back to Aunt May’s. “What happened?” he asked.

Aunt May roller her eyes. “You were taking so long to get the eggs that he got worried and went out to find you.”

He turned to stare at his aunt. Back before he’d confessed his powers (to find that she’d already figured them out) he’d had a series of incidents where she’d send him to the store and he’d get side-tracked by crime fighting only to forget the items he’d been sent out for in the first place. He didn’t appreciate her bringing it up now. “Why didn’t you stop him?” he asked softly.

Aunt May snorted. “Stop him?” she demanded as she looked at him, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. “When all he wants is to make sure my darling nephew is safe and sound and remembers the eggs? Never.”

Peter rolled his eyes and left before, once again, donning his Spiderman suit. Where would Wade go to look for him? Sure, Aunt May might have told him that Peter had gone to go get eggs, but only someone who was naive would believe that Wade’s mind worked linearly and would go straight to the nearest store to look for Peter.

Peter loved his boyfriend, loved all his little quirks, but he knew better. Wade could just as easily be looking in the subway as he could be in a convenience store to see if they had eggs. He needed help. He sighed. “What I need,” he muttered, “is an angel.”

“You called?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off both Sunday and Monday and you know what? Work has been so draining this weekend that I went to bed EARLY and slept for over twelve hours. Straight (really had to use the bathroom when I got up). Just--agh!


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Clint catch up.

“So the kids said they’d think about it,” Clint reported. Tony watched as the man rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing that Angel girl doesn’t hate us,” he added.

“Oh?” asked Tony, suddenly attentive. He knew better than to dismiss Clint’s views and thoughts. He put Hulk2 back in the cat bed and leaned forward, the better to give his attention to the archer. 

“She said all of three words to one of the street children, and they all turned out to meet with me,” Clint said. He paused and reconsidered. “Well, almost all of them. Apparently two of them are watching a third, named Copper.”

Tony grimaced. They wouldn't have had a choice, of course.  Those kids didn’t dare trust adults, and the little he’d learned about Runaways Unite led Tony to believe that they were right. For the most part, adults couldn't be trusted. That meant that if a child was injured or sick, it was the other children who had to help.

Logically, it made sense. Emotionally, he just wanted to make sure they were all safe.  His heart hurt at the thought that there was a boy out there, a boy who’d been created with Tony’s DNA (which may or may not have been from sperm; his pre-Iron Man days had been  _wild_ )  who was, potentially, just as alone as these children were. Maybe even more; the street children had each other and he didn’t know if the children from the facility did.

“And?” asked Tony, knowing there was more to Clint’s report than he’d given.

“And—” Uncharacteristically, Clint hesitated. He stopped and sighed. “She knows things. Things she shouldn't know. Things she _couldn't_ know, but she knows them anyway. If she wanted to, Tony, this girl could utterly destroy all of us and not break a sweat.”

Tony blinked as he considered this. “ What makes you say that?” he asked.

“She has a map of the entire city, everything from skyscrapers and streets to sewage and subway lines—even the stuff that’s been locked down. You know, when they build a new line and it totally cuts off a station? It gets bricked up and paved over and no one remembers it’s there? She knows. It’s all in her head. I’m also relatively certain that she’s keeping a running tally on everyone’s strengths and weaknesses too.”

Tony thought for a moment. True, all of that knowledge gave her an almost unprecedented level of power—but  Tony knew that, despite most evidence to the contrary, there were smart people that actually  _weren’t_ egocentric assholes, and no—he did not consider himself to be in that group. “What does she think about the plan?” he asked Clint.

Clint gave another grimace. “Hard to say. She gave no opinion one way or the other. Told the kids to gather their own intel about both sides and when one said how she pointed to me and said I’m the intel from you.”

Tony blinked. “That was—fair,” he allowed, surprise.

“Yeah, and one of the kids said something weird. Said that she wasn’t going to offer an opinion because she wasn’t going to be around long enough to matter and she looked smug at that.”

“Smug?”

Clint reconsidered. “Proud, maybe? It was kind of a cross between that look Banner throws your way when he’s right and what Laura uses when one of the kids remembers ‘talk not punch’ at school.”

Right. Laura. “Clint, would you know anything about a horde of psychiatrists that tried to corner me earlier?”

Clint winced. “Uh, yeah—Laura has a very  _low_ opinion of Prof. X. And, uh, may have decided you needed more—professional help?”

Tony sighed. Clint was no more in charge of his wife than Tony was in charge of Pepper. “They brought up good points and Pepper almost punted them out of the building.”

“As long as she didn’t,” Clint replied mildly.

Puddles, the mother cat, gave a huge yawn before looking at the silly humans in the office and turning to wash her offspring. “On another note,” Tony continued since Clint hadn’t been there, and would probably hear the reports from his wife later, “one of the kittens can catch fire.”

“It can _what_?” Clint stared at Tony like he’d never seen the man before in his life.

Tony simply nodded. “It may have singed some of the shrinks a bit,” he added.

Clint just stared down at the basket. Mother and kittens looked so normal, so cute, so helpless—

“SHIELD never learns about them,” Clint decided.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, SHIELD. Nothing quite like burning your bridges before you need them. :)


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Peter do some detective work.

Peter whirled to face the speaker. The girl, Angel, stood on the side of the building, wind rustling through the feathers on her wings as she looked at him with curiosity. “How?” he asked, first question to run through his head.

She shrugged. “I have super hearing,” she explained, “and I’m always—attuned? Is that the right word?—to the sound of your voice. And Wade’s voice,” she added.

“Ah.” Peter fidgeted. He both wanted to ask for her help and scream at her to go home. She was way too young for this hero business—but then, he had been too. “Did you figure out what laid eggs in the sewers?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Nah. They’re just going to hatch. I don’t think they’re a threat—well, not to anything other than sewer rats.”

Peter shuddered. He knew way too much about the city’s sewer rats. “Have you seen Wade?” he asked.

“Not today,” Angel answered breezily. She tilted her head to the side, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

Peter explained what his aunt had done. “And now I need to find him,” he said.

Angel nodded. “This is going to sound strange,” she said cautiously, “but why do you need to find him so badly? He thinks you went out for eggs, right?”

“Right,” said Peter thoughtfully.

“Right.” Angel’s wings flipped lazily for a moment as she considered. She looked back at Peter. “What’s the nearest store that sells both eggs and poblano peppers?” she asked.

Peter blinked. “What?” he asked.

“Wade’s favorite food is Mexican,” Angel explained. Peter nodded; he knew that. “Poblano peppers are one of the most commonly used ingredients in Mexican food. I don’t think he even sees stores that don’t sell them.”

That made a lot of sense, actually. He didn’t want to think too hard about why _Angel_ knew that, but it made sense. “Timon’s,” he said firmly before swinging away. He heard the thundering of wings behind him as she shot through the air following him.

Timon was a second-generation immigrant whose family had, quite literally, built the store from scratch—using debris from buildings around the area because aliens invading New Amsterdam was not a new phenomenon. The store was small. The store was sturdily built. And Timon had contacts that got him the freshest everything and everybody loved his store.

Timon also knew Peter. Back when he was a kid, every time he went into the store the man would give him a cookie filled with pineapple. When Peter became Spiderman, he’d stopped several huge pieces of debris from falling on the cherished store. He liked to think the man would understand what Peter was about to ask him, but he wasn’t sure.

Peter ducked into the small store and the bell above the door rang to announce his presence. “Coming!” Timon’s heavily accented voice called. (The man could speak with the same accent any New Amsterdamer could, but chose to cultivate the accent.)

“Hey, Timon!” Peter said nervously, not sure of the reaction he was going to get.

Timon’s dark face lit up. “Spiderman!” he said, all traces of his foreign accent gone. “Welcome! How can I help you?”

Wow. That was—a surprisingly positive reaction. Encouraged Peter said, “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Huge, red, swords on his back?”

“Deadpool!” Timon said, just as excitedly. “Oh, he saved my baby girl last week!”

“Is she all right?” asked Peter, worried.

“Eh, nothing that won’t heal,” Timon said dismissively. “Much better than it could have been. He stopped by earlier—is your friend sick?” Not noticing the shock on Peter’s face (thank goodness for the mask) he continued, “He collapsed and someone had to help him on his way.”

Before Peter could say anything, Angel spoke up. “Do you have cameras?” she asked. “Could we see? If we know who helped him, we’ll know where to look.”

“Of course, of course,” Timon said. “Come with me!” he led them to the office in the back of the little store that the security equipment hooked up.

As Timon was pulling up the video Peter realized that Angel had never said that Wade wasn’t being helped. She’d never said that he was the kind of person who simply didn’t collapse. She’d left Timon with the impression that that they were looking for him because he was ill.

Angel, Peter was coming to realize, was scary.

Peter put his thoughts aside as he watched Wade bend down by a hunched figure on the sidewalk. Watched as something happened to Wade and he began to collapse. Watched as suspiciously familiar multi-jointed metal arms sprang from the figure’s back to wrap up Wade and carry him like a small child.

No. It couldn't be.

But it was. He’d recognize those arms anywhere; he’d helped Dr. Octavius with the algorithms to make them work. And they’d been used to kidnap his boyfriend.

“Thanks, Timon,” Angel said. “We know where to go now.”

“Ah, no problem,” Timon said. “We gotta stick together, eh? I hope your buddy feels better soon.”

“He will,” Angel promised as she gently guided a stunned Peter out of the store.

Dr. Octavius had kidnapped Wade. That meant that Oscorp wanted him for—something. Peter wasn’t aware of any projects the company was working on that would require kidnapping _Deadpool_. Then again, Peter wasn’t privy to all aspects of the company; there were several bits that were under the direct supervision of Norman. Which meant—kidnapping Wade was a Norman level decision.

He was going to have to hack into the company’s system and find out why. He didn’t want to; he was terrified of what would happen if Norman figured out he did it; but he had to know why and where Wade was taken. He pulled out his phone and made a quick call.

“How can I help you, Mr. Parker?”

As usual, the AI’s voice made Peter grin. “Hey, you remember how you said that you were still looking for a way into the Oscorp mainframe? There’s about to be a breach.”

A moment of silence on the other end of the call. “Mr. Parker, I do not want you to commit a crime for this,” JARVIS told him firmly.

“They took Wade,” Peter said flatly.

Another moment of silence.

“Sir has several new, untraceable rockets in his arsenal. Would you like me to bomb them to the ground?”

Angel’s face turned bright red and she collapsed to the ground, shaking. Peter had the odd idea she was trying not to interrupt his call. “I, uh, don’t actually think there’s a need for that,” Peter hedged.

“Not to worry, Mr. Parker,” JARVIS drawled cheerfully. “I will endeavor to ensure there are no warm bodies in the building first.” Click.

Angel burst out laughing, tears streaming down her face. “I love him!” she squeaked.

Peter gave a weak smile. “Are you busy?” he asked. “Can you help?”

“Hmm. Well, the street children are holed up in their safe place deciding their future and the army gathering under the streets won’t be ready to try and take over New Amsterdam for _at least_ two more days—so, yeah. I can help.”

Peter stared at her for a moment. “Shouldn’t you be trying to do something about that army?” he asked, curiously.

“You would think, but no. Trust me,” Angel said completely serious, “the best way to minimize loss of life here is to let the army commit itself and then chop off the head. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” Peter echoed weakly. He’d have to assume she knew what she was talking about; he needed to rescue Wade. “Let’s go,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell if last night was so bad because it was Halloween and everyone was out partying, of if last night was so bad because we're the ONLY convenience store in our area that's still open 24/7 after the shooting down the street. I'm too tired to answer that.


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, with Wade...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. Work sucks; I'm tired, typing when I can. Sorry.

The hill was basked in moonlight even though there was no moon. It was quiet. It was peaceful. Wade felt happier than at almost any other moment.

The cowled figure stood over him as he lay on the soft, sweet-smelling grass and he grinned up at the skull beneath it. “Lady Death!” he exclaimed.  He clasped his hands over his heart. “Sweet mistress of my heart! It has been too long!”

Lady Death chuckled, the laughter booming oddly through the skull. “Always too long. And yet, never long enough,” she said as she looked gently over him.  Her voice softened, and if she’d had flesh Wade imagined it would pull back in a smile. “You do not belong here anymore. Your heart has been tethered elsewhere.”

Wade opened his mouth to protest that no, it hadn’t—and blackness surrounded him. He opened his eyes to see—

He was sitting on a couch. On  _his_ couch, in his apartment. He looked around in confusion—how had that happen ed ? It didn’t seem possible.

A soft sigh alerted him to the figure beside, on the couch. He looked over to see—Peter, curled up against his side. And now that he recognized the younger man, he noticed the warmth of the man curled against him. “Something wrong?” the younger man asked, blinking his eyes lazily, like a cat.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, but Wade couldn't figure out quite what it was. He knew it needed dealt with quickly. “I don’t know,” he said softly, voice quavering. What? What was it?

He looked back at the young man beside him as Peter chuckled. He looked up at Wade, glasses falling adorably down his nose, and pushed them back up with a single finger.

He didn’t even have time to react before Wade’s hands were around his neck, squeezing the life out of the clone.

Wade’s eyes opened for just a moment to see—the clean, sterile environment of a lab.

[What?]

{How?}

He was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. Warmth filled his chest as he thought of how the two of them had finally moved in together. It had even been Peter’s idea. He calmly moved the now done pancakes (dick shaped, because _of course_ ) to a plate before pouring more pancake batter into the pan.

Two thin, familiar arms wrapped around Wade’s waist and a face pressed itself in his back. “Mmm,” Peter mulled sleepily, “smells good.”

Wade chuckled warmly as the warmth in his chest heat a little more. “I told you, I’m the pancake king!”

“Mmm,” agreed Peter. “Will His Majesty grace me with a good morning kiss?” he asked.

Wade chuckled, flipped the pancakes, and turned. He leaned down to kiss Peter and stopped halfway bopping his nose lightly with a finger. “Boop,” he said teasingly. Peter smiled.

His nose didn’t twitch.

Wade was even faster this time.

[Stop!]

{How?}

Wade was standing in a lab watching Peter work. Not one of the labs he’d seen Peter in, but a lab nonetheless. “So how do you like having your own lab?” he asked Peter.

Peter turned and grinned. “It’s pretty great,” he said leaning against the counter. The liquid in the beaker behind him, precariously balanced over a burner, began to boil. “This was a good idea.”

“Hmm,” agreed Wade seeing, once again, how sexy his boyfriend looked in the lab coat. “You sure you don’t want to play doctor?” he asked as he tried to waggle an eyebrow suggestively. He never knew if he succeeded or not, when he was wearing the suit.

Peter raised an eyebrow of his own in return. “Not in front of the cameras,” he said firmly with a crooked grin. “I don’t want everybody and Stark seeing us.”

“Oh, that could be kinky.”

Peter laughed, turned, and pulled the beaker off the burner before pouring the liquid into another, larger beaker on a tray with three others that had mysterious liquid in them. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “These just need to set overnight. How do you feel about going out to dinner tonight?”

“Mexican?”

“Of course,” Peter answered.

“Of course!” Wade replied. He held out an arm. There was something odd about it—about the color—

Peter tucked his own arm into the crook of Wade’s and the thought flew away. “Where do you think we should go?” he asked as they walked down the corridor to the elevator.

“Oh, I know a taco truck,” Wade said breezily. Peter gave an odd little snort-chuckle and Wade continued, “It’s good! Trust me! And not only does it taste good,” he added as they made their way to the street—

Since when did Peter work so close to the street?

“You’re zoning,” Peter said calmly, breaking the thought.

Wade gave himself a shake. “I guess I am,” he said thoughtfully. “Anyway—where was I?”

“If this taco truck gives you such a bad memory, I’m not sure we should eat there,” teased Peter.

“Oh, no!” gasped Wade as they walked. “It’s a crime against nature!” They passed by an alley mouth with a street child in it.

Peter didn’t even glance in the child’s direction.

Wade was just as fast this time and opened his eyes into the sterile, stainless steel lab to see a young man sitting across from him, wearily rubbing his eyes. The young man, Asian-looking with a dyed pink streak in his hair and piercings marching up one ear, sighed.

{Who the fuck is this bastard?}

[Why do we keep getting shoved to the back of your mind? We don’t like it there!]

“Deadpool, Deadpool, Deadpool,” the young man said. “Oh, Deadpool.” He flung his head back, letting it drape over the chair he was in before looking at Wade again. “This would be a lot easier if you stop fighting me,” he commented.

“Who the fuck are you?” growled Wade.

“Don’t let it bother you. Either this works, and you become a paid employee of Oscorp—and the benefits are great if you don’t mind working for a stone cold psychopath—or it fails and you kill us all.” The young man sighed and leaned forward again. “I need a break. Want anything? Some water, juice, beer? Something to eat? We’ve got an Irish cook this week and her shepherd’s pie is almost to die for.”

“I’d rather have tacos,” grunted Wade.

The young man sighed. “You’re just a few months too late for tacos, Deadpool, and I’m not allowed to leave until the situation with you has been handled. Anything else?”

“Beer would be good.”

“Right.” The young man stood up and walked out of the lab, whistling a low tune.

[What the fuck happened? How did we get here?]

{Where are we?}

Wade wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure that he was in Oscorp. His brain thrust the image of the woman he’d tried to help, the one that had stabbed him in the leg and injected him with something.

{Doesn’t that guy know we don’t kill people anymore?}


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adriana makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Lovely audience, my dear sweet readers, I am, once again, directing your attention to the tags. There is gore in this chapter, and severe cold-blooded decisions. (Completely understandable decisions mind you, but still cold-blooded.) Very, very vague summary at the bottom, for those who wish to skip.

Adriana stood outside of the facility. Very clever they were, disguising it as a maximum security juvenile prison. No one would listen to the children if one of them broke programming. No one would believe them if they were told the child had done nothing wrong to get put in this facility, had in fact been _born_ in this facility, and were being trained to be perfect human soldiers.

How Adriana _hated_ humans. They were disgusting creatures, willing to use anything they wanted to get ahead. No, the only way to succeed would be to populate the world with her lovely creatures. They had the instincts that humanity had forced down, denied, and were the next wave of sentience in the world.

One of her lovely creatures moved up behind her as she eyed the facility. The chain-linked fence would provide no obstacle for her army. Same for the curled barbed wire at the top. Her creatures were not susceptible to the same things that would leave terrible wounds on humans. Not that she intended for them to go over, oh no.

She intended to make a statement. She was going to destroy them. Hopefully when she was done with this place people would think twice about what they were doing before trying something like this again.

They _would_ try it again, of course. Humans always did.

There was no outward reaction from the facility as she approached it. Of course there wasn’t; she knew what she looked like. She was thin, petite, and pale from all the time she spent underground. She looked weak, maybe even sickly to their untrained eyes. She did not look like a threat.

She stopped a mere two feet away from the fence and glared at the yard inside. In one corner she could see the charred remains of play equipment and her lip curled as she looked at the gray brick facade of the building in front of her.

They were just like the people her parents had sent her to, to “cure” her of her powers. Well, they would meet the same fate; she would see to that. A single twist of her will and one of her creatures, a gorgeous mottled brown, reached around her, gripped two links of the fence, and pulled.

The previously silent building began to wail with sirens as the first fence was breached. Her lovely, wonderful creatures streamed into the gap and easily (with more ease now that she wasn’t in the way) breached the second fence. She calmly strode through. Her creatures knew what to do.

Sweet, delicious screams reached her ears as those fools tried to kill her darlings with bullets—but she’d learned. Their exoskeletons were now tough, almost impenetrable. Her babies were safe enough with the mere humans in charge of this place.

Soon the first of them returned, carrying a struggling human in its grip. She tilted her head as she considered the sacrifice in front of her. Was it worthy? Would the venom take? She smiled as two fangs slid out of the nearly invisible sheaths in her gums and began slowly releasing the venom she used to create her creatures. The human, clad in a white coat, began to struggle and scream as it took in the site of her fangs.

Did the human know what was about to happen to it? Or was it just reacting with the fear all mammals instinctively had for five-inch long fangs? She’d find out soon enough.

Her creature forced the human to the ground and, carefully gripping the head with one hand and the shoulder with the other, forced the human to bare its neck as she stepped forwards. Her fangs sank into the skin and muscle of the neck with a satisfying feeling and she felt some of her venom, pent up from lack of use recently, being injected into the human. She stopped releasing the venom and pulled her fangs out when the human began to go limp. Her creature dropped the human and, following the silent command, went back into the facility.

The moon had risen and was bathing the facility in a forgiving silver light when her creatures finished with the adults in the facility. The first of the humans was already turning, gaining the lovely colors that would grace its new form. To her left, guarded by a ring of her creatures, were those who were lacking. Those who were unacceptable. Those who would, before the night was over, die.

“What do you want with us?” demanded one with a white coat.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” growled another in a dark blue uniform.

Adriana ignored the humans. They were not worth her time—but someone else was. She waited, patiently, for her last creature to return with its burden.

There! She shifted forwards eagerly as her creature, carrying the wide-eyed child, came towards her. Yes, this was the one. The one she’d meant to find. The yellow eyes stared at her in fear.

“Oh, no,” said Adriana gently as she walked towards the child. “You don’t have to be scared,” she added as she got closer.

“You—you’re like me,” whispered the child, the little girl.

Adriana smiled. “I am,” she told the girl confidently. “And you’re like me.”

The girl looked around. “You—made them?” she asked.

“I did. Look there.” Adriana pointed towards the humans that were changing. “Soon they will be wonderful beauties as well.”

“What about them?” asked the girl as she pointed to the group of humans in a ring.

Adriana hummed thoughtfully. “They don’t have the—ability to become better,” she told the child. She reached over and gently ran her fingers through the sweat-soaked, matted hair. They’d have to fix that later. “What do you think should happen to them?” she asked the child.

The child’s gaze hardened with hatred. “I think they should die,” she snarled. “Horribly.”

Adriana smiled and turned back to the group. “Then that,” she said with satisfaction, “is exactly what will happen.”

Neither Adriana nor the child looked away as the creatures surrounding the humans darted into the circle and began eating them alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adriana finds her counterpart in the world she's currently in and frees the smaller version of herself. The meeting does not go well for the nearby adults.


	110. Chapter 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Angel break into Oscorp to save Wade.

Peter reeled and clutched the wall, his sticky grip the only thing keeping him standing as waves of _warning_ washed over him. For a brief moment he was blinded before the mysterious “Spidey-sense” dialed back enough for him to function again. He gasped before a distinctive sound hit his ears.

Angel was puking.

Peter looked at her shaking, pale form as she emptied her stomach against the wall. Her wings flapped listlessly against the floor as her stomach heaved. “You felt that,” he said, awed. She’d sensed the same thing he had. Only stronger. Which was strange, because no one did.

“ _There was even,” she continued with an odd, wry smile, “a child who’d gotten the mutations of two powerful mutants.”_

Two powerful mutants. He already knew she had a healing factor which meant—Deadpool and Spiderman. No wonder she hadn’t underestimated him.

“Y—yeah,” she gasped as she held a hand against her stomach and leaned against the wall with the other, careful not to fall into the vomit. She was still shaking.

Peter wasn’t much better. “What—what was that?” he asked fighting his own nausea. He didn’t want to risk leaving _any_ DNA in Oscorp as Spiderman.

Angel wiped her mouth the back of a shaking hand. “I—I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never,” she swallowed, “felt anything like that before.”

Peter hadn’t either. He started to look around hoping to find something that could have triggered the reaction, only to notice the green, watery liquid running down the wall to pool on the floor. “Angel,” he said looking at the small puddle of bile, “when’s the last time you ate?”

The girl cringed. “I have a fast metabolism,” she muttered defensively.

Peter remembered his own defenses. He had a fast metabolism. Aunt May needed to eat more than he did. He wasn’t starving—just a growing boy. He would eat—but he didn’t have time. He knew where she was coming from.

“Listen,” Peter said firmly, “next time someone with means asks you to do something, you charge them for food for it.”

Angel frowned as she wiped her mouth, looking at him. “Isn’t that unethical?” she asked.

He looked into the pale, _thin_ (how had he missed how thin she was) face that showed confusion. “If you don’t have the means to support yourself, and the people asking you for help have the ability, it’s not unethical; it’s necessary.”

“But—”

“You told me that you were once so hungry you ate a bear,” Peter said flatly. “Can you tell me that you’re not that hungry now?”

Silence.

Peter sighed. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” he said. “But I want you to know—it’s okay to need to eat. It doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human.”

She was silent, and looked thoughtful. Peter didn’t want to press her; he knew how well that had worked for _him_ back when he’d first started being Spiderman. The last thing she needed was to give in to some teenage rebellion making her decide that he was full of crap and of course she was fine the way she was.

Angel moved so quickly that Peter was startled and barely had enough time to whirl as she pinned someone against the wall opposite the one she’d been leaning on. “Eavesdropping isn’t very nice,” she drawled.

Peter frowned. He hadn’t sensed this guy moving towards them—and he _should_ have. They were in Oscorp and Peter knew that _everyone_ (now that Harry was out of the building) was a threat in Oscorp. His sense should have warned him.

The man, about Peter’s age, had dark circles around his eyes. He looked exhausted, almost haunted. Peter wondered if he worked with Norman, but couldn’t ask in the suit. “Who says I’m eavesdropping?” he demanded haughtily. “Maybe I just wanted to sneak past you to the kitchen for some shepherd’s pie.”

“Maybe,” Angel said, her voice teasing and showing no sign of the weakness that had made her puke earlier, “you could tell us where our friend is. Deadpool?”

“Maybe,” the man said, mimicking her tone, “you should let me go before I read your minds to know who you are.”

Peter recoiled.

Angel laughed. “You—you want to read—my mind?” she gasped between laughs. She grinned, wickedly. “Go ahead,” she dared slyly.

The man grinned back in the exact same manner—and then his face crumpled. Went pale. Angel, still holding him, yanked him forward and pointed him towards the other wall just as vomit _spewed_ out of the man, liberally coating the wall in front of him. The man gasped and Angel allowed him to sink to his knees as he shook.

Peter looked at Angel, who shrugged. “Side effect of dimension hopping,” she explained. He pointedly looked at the puddle of vomit which had neatly covered her own bile and back at her. She shrugged again. “Why make things easy for them?” she asked.

Well—Peter had to admit she had a point. After all, if _he_ had been Norman, and two clearly superpowered people broke into his building and one of them puked he’d be thrilled for the chance to extract some DNA. And now, said potential DNA was compromised. “Fair enough,” Peter responded. He looked at the man. “We still need to find Deadpool though,” he said pointedly.

The man lifted one shaky arm and pointed down the hall. “Seven doors down,” he said weakly.


	111. Chapter 111

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade gets rescued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update.

{Just what the Hell did they use to strap us down?}

Wade didn’t know. He just knew that his arms were bent to where his elbows were by his temples and he seemed to be sitting—although he couldn't feel a seat or straps keeping him up.

[Whatever this shit is, it’s strong.]

{We got to get out of here!}

Wade threw himself to the side—or, at least, he tried to. His body didn’t move, barely twitched. The only change he could make was adding sweat.

[How did they _do_ this to us?]

{Petey! What’re they going to do to Petey? We’ve gotta get OUT!}

[Your whining and yelling aren’t making this any easier—]

The door in front of Wade opened and he stared—at Spidey?

{Are we hallucinating?}

Behind Spiderman Angel popped up and gave a slow wave. “Hey, Deadpool,” she said cheerfully. “I see you’re _hangin’ around_.” Spiderman heaved a huge sigh and elbowed her. It looked oddly like one of the first interactions that Wade had had with the arachnid, when they’d first started patrolling together. The girl shrugged, clearly nonplussed by dismissal.

“What is this mess they’ve got you in, ‘Pool?” asked Spiderman as he came over.

Wade grunted as the young man—

{Not _that_ young! Did you forget he’s _legal_?}

[Not _now_!]

—climbed him to get to the bindings. “It’s vibranium,” Spiderman growled. “I can’t break it.”

“Well, you _can_ , but probably not without also breaking Deadpool,” Angel said. She crouched in front of Wade. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “We’re going to get you out.”

But were they real? Were they really there? Was this another hallucination, another dream in his mind planted by the Asian guy?

[I don’t think so. When he was in your mind we were just sort of—pushed back, like he couldn't handle us or something. And we’re here.]

{Or maybe that was what he wanted us to think and the whole “I’m going to get food” thing was a sham!}

There was a click and Wade dropped, rolled, and came up in a fighting stance. Spiderman was clearly surprised. Angel looked curious and amused, but not alarmed.

“How do I know it’s really you?” demanded Wade.

{Yeah! Tell us something only Spidey would know!}

[He can’t _hear_ us, you moron!]

Spiderman dropped to a crouch (which seemed to be a comfortable position for him) and looked up at Wade. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I heard how you didn’t kill Peter’s coworker. I’d rather it was more because you didn’t want to than because you were worried that Peter would tattle to me, but it was still good you didn’t kill him.”

{That’s—something Peter would know.}

{And Peter and Spidey are the same person.]

“Webs!” cried Wade as he flung himself around the costumed form of his boyfriend. He began to shake wondering if it was real, if he was _really_ holding Peter—

“I think I’m gonna go thump that guy a few more times.”

[She sounds pissed.]

“Angel!” hissed Peter—Spiderman.

[Yes, don’t accidentally call him by name while he’s in the suit. We don’t want him knowing we know, remember?]

“I’m not gonna kill him!” Angel protested firmly. “But if I thump him in the right place, he’ll never use those powers again.”

“Angel,” Peter said, warning evident in the tone of his voice. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

{They sound just like a parent scolding a child!}

[Well, he _did_ raise her.]

Wade looked at her. “Can you prove who _you_ are?” he asked warily, still not certain that he wasn’t in some kind of dream.

Angel looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes. “No,” she said finally. “But I can scream the lyrics to _Moonlight Shadow_ until you’re willing to agree to just about anything just to make me shut up.”

[ _Now_ I believe we helped raise her.]

Wade gave a shaky grin. “Thanks,” he said softly. He reached out a hand and then stopped as he stared at his suit. Instead of the normal darkish blood red that he normally wore, it was now a bright neon red, almost pink. That explained why it looked so strange in the dream world; the guy probably didn’t know what the suit was supposed to look like. “What happened to my suit?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” Peter said with a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here. I know for a fact that you have spares that don’t look quite so—unsettling.”

Wade gave a fake gasp. “But I was thinking of re-branding!” he said.

[Don’t.]

{Please don’t.}

Peter chuckled warmly. “Come on ‘Pool,” he said as he helped Wade cross the room. “Let’s get out of here before the cavalry arrives.”

Angel made a disbelieving noise. “Please,” she said. “As _if_ I can’t handle anything in _this_ building.”

“That’s not the point,” Peter scolded gently as they made their way through the hall. Wade stared at the young man that had been putting scenarios in his mind as they reached a vomit filled part of the hall.

“I had to,” the man said softly, almost brokenly. “I know that Norman’s crazy, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Angel dropped to crouch next to the man and laid a gentle hand on his back. “Dude,” Angel said firmly, “remember this; ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ With the kind of person Norman is, friends can’t be that hard to find.” Angel stood up again and walked with Peter and Deadpool as a low hum began to fill the building. “You know,” Angel said conversationally, “I don’t think we should try the elevator.” She walked to a window that looked over the city and casually punched it out, cuts on her hand perfectly healed by the time she pulled it back.

Peter aimed a wrist at the sky line in front of them. “Funny,” he quipped. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Wade was feeling too off balance to squeal as they dropped from the window. Angel opened her wings and fluttered the way down as Peter shot off some web to accomplish the same thing. Once they landed Peter gently set Wade down and said, “I’ve got to go. Peter’s been worried sick about you.” The whites of the Spidey mask met Wade’s own before he bolted.

“Take care,” said Angel with a quick wave. Then, quietly as Spiderman vanished from sight, “You already know, don’t you?”

“Yup.” Wade assessed the girl beside him. “You knew,” he said marveling at how she’d never even given him a hint of Spiderman’s identity back when he’d asked her to look after Peter.

“Yup.” Her wings rustled as she grinned at him. “Of course.”

“You never even gave a _hint_ of it,” said Wade with wonder.

Angel shrugged. “His identity’s a secret where I’m from too, so I’m used to keeping it that.”

“Must be hard.” How far had Peter gone?

He was distracted when Angel snorted. “Only when the Avengers get hit with sex pollen and I have to explain to my class why Papa isn’t pissed that Dad snuck into an alley to bone Spiderman.”

Wade tried to imagine the situation and his brain began to short circuit. “That happen often?” he asked in a strangled voice as he imagined having free reign to run his hands over Spidey after a mission when they both needed to release some stress…

[You stop that right now. The last thing Peter needs to see is us with a boner when we’re talking to a girl.]

Angel sighed. “You would be surprised,” she told him as Peter came running around the corner—in regular Joe clothes that were loosely put together, as if he’d hastily gotten dressed—almost tripping over his untied shoelaces as he threw himself against Wade.

“You’re all right!” Peter said. It sounded like a prayer.

“Aw, of course I’m all right,” Wade assured the young man. Then, just in case he was still trapped in an even more sophisticated hallucination, he gently bopped the younger man’s nose. “Boop!”

The nose twitched adorably. “Wade!” complained Peter, who promptly got the breath knocked out of him as Wade enveloped him in a tight hug.

“And I’m off,” said Angel firmly. “I’m going to go see if I can find what made me sick earlier.” She gave them both an ironic salute and then shot off into the sky.

“Can we go home?” Peter asked Wade.

Wade gripped Peter’s hand firmly, feeling like it was his only tether to reality. “I’d like to eat first,” he admitted. “I’m in the mood for tacos!”

Peter chuckled and leaned in close to Wade once more. “You always want tacos,” he said fondly as they went to find a food truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UK4PI7yBTho
> 
> Moonlight shadow, in case anyone is curious about the song. The most depressing song to a happy beat that I've ever heard.


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony races to the facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit longer than normal, but mostly dialogue. TRIGGER WARNINGS: implied abuse, implied graphic death (from a few chapters ago), and I think that covers it. I know I haven't really been giving chapter warnings for this one, but this chapter feels darker to me than the rest of the story so far. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

“Sir, I have new information you must hear.” JARVIS’s voice rang quietly through Tony’s earpiece.

Tony tapped the button the side of the earpiece to turn on the blue light and make it look like he was on a call. “Yeah?” he asked as he flipped through his plans for the house he’d bought.

“The facility housing Project 23 was broken into,” JARVIS said calmly in Tony’s ear.

A lot more calm than Tony felt. “ _What_?” he demanded as he grabbed the wristbands that hooked into one of his suits.

“All of the adults of the facility are currently missing and there is an alarmingly large smear of blood in one corner.”

Oh no. Tony felt his heart constrict, despite the fact that he didn’t have one anymore. “And the children?” he asked as he raced down the hall to the elevator.

“The children are, for the moment, unharmed. They are currently locked in individual rooms with no outside access.”

Meaning that if they didn’t get to the children soon, they would die. Or be retaken by SHIELD and moved to another facility. “Shit!” he swore as the elevator opened.

“Ms. Potts has already informed the team. They are on their way with the jet.”

They were heading out to rescue the children. Tony changed direction and headed towards a window he knew opened fully—because he’d designed it that way just in case of something like this. He jumped out of the window and simultaneously called for his suit which enveloped him as he fell before thrusting off in the direction of the facility.

“JARVIS, open a line to the manor,” Tony said.

“Mr. Stark, what in the world are you doing?” asked the cultured voice of the professor.

“Change of plans,” Tony said grimly. The world flew by him as he slowly (relatively speaking, of course) converged on the jet. “Something’s happened at the facility the children are in, and we need to get them _now_.”

“I’ve seen your plans, Mr. Stark,” the professor said firmly. “There isn’t anywhere for them to stay yet.”

The suit automatically swerved to one side to avoid running into a flying eagle that screeched at him. “Rude bird,” Tony muttered.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I was hoping I could impose on you while we’re putting the finishing touches on our own mansion.” Such as making sure the roof didn’t leak and finding out whatever was causing the red stains on the walls. “I’ll pay, of course.”

“I’m offended you’d ask. But I feel certain your scholarship foundation will find some likely young mutants to sponsor to our school.”

Tony grinned. “I’m certain you already have them picked out,” he said calmly. “Thanks Baldy; we’ll be there soon.”

The courtyard of the facility was a mess. There was a double chain-link fence topped with generous spirals of barbed wire, a mass of charred toys and playground equipment to one side, and a mess of blood, bits of skin, and tiny shreds of (mercifully) unidentified meat was in the other.

He was joined by Clint. “Something inhuman broke in here,” the spy/tracker said as he looked around the yard.

Natasha agreed. “There was a human here. Stood here for almost the whole thing. Maybe took three steps. Small feet,” she said pointing to indentations in the bare earth of the ground.

“Whatever took the guards had smaller feet, and were larger,” Clint added as he pointed.

“Looks like the humans were separated into two groups.” Natasha gestured towards a smooth area with her gun, an area that was free of blood. There were odd scratches and gouges in the dirt. “Not sure what happened there.”

Tony frowned. “All right,” he said firmly. “First order of business: secure the kids. I think we can all agree we need to get them out of here.”

“Where are they going to go?” asked Steve as he stepped into the courtyard. Bucky was right behind him, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hard at what he was seeing.

There was a little bit of a static buzz as Pepper tapped into the coms. “We’ve got word from Professor Xavier that he’s ready to take care of these kids until we get our own mansion up and running,” she said.

“Right. Second order of business: grab everything that looks like it might hold any kind of information on it; I don’t care how trivial it looks. Think of this as a data dump Ladies and Gentlemen and rest assured that I won’t be asking any of you to pour over it. Ready?”

“No.” The cold voice came from someone between Bucky and the Winter Soldier. The eyes pierced Tony’s through the suit. He felt ice in his chest at the thought that the man might backslide. He hadn’t even considered that a possibility! “When we’re done—we level the place.”

“Fair enough,” Tony said with a nod before turning back towards the facility.

Natasha gestured him towards the building. “After you,” she said wryly.

“Thank you,” Tony said as he reached forwards, grabbed the door with one armored glove, and yanked it off the hinges. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he stepped inside.

The place was eerily quiet. The floors were tile that cracked under the armor and looked as though they may have been white at one time, but there was now an almost pinkish look to them. And to the walls. Tony didn’t want to think too hard about what happened.

The halls weren’t just quiet—they were almost silent. The only noises that Tony heard were the ever present humming of the electricity through the lines and the sounds his team made as they went further and further in. Images of reaching the children only to find them already dead, nothing more than their own bloody smears began to race through Tony’s head. He wanted to ask JARVIS for reassurance, for proof that the children were still alive and he wasn’t walking into a murder scene—but no. No, he still did not have complete trust in Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Bucky. They couldn't know about JARVIS, so he had to do this the hard way.

The facility was broken up into sections that were divided by more chain-link fence—that had been ripped through. Fearing the worst Tony maneuvered the suit through the wreckage towards where he last heard the children were. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

It certainly wasn’t rows of children in coffin sized cells made of Plexiglas with huge lights above them. It certainly wasn’t seeing those same children stand, at perfect attention, at the front of the cells in front of the doors. The broken door didn’t even register as he looked at all these children in perfect military stances.

Suddenly he was glad that Clint’s wife had gotten a battalion of therapists on standby. These children were going to need more therapy than he’d thought. There was no way his people, or the professor’s people, were prepared to deal with _this_.

There was a slight hiss as Steve followed him into the corridor, eyes switching between a lithe blond and bulky brunette. Tony wished he couldn't hear his friend’s heart breaking as he took in the absurdly accurate military stances the children were in. Or how the children barely seemed to be breathing.

“We got enough room in the jet for,” Tony did a rough count and, oh God, did he ever get around to telling Daredevil about this? “For about twenty children.”

“If you fly separate and take one of the others with you, we do. It’ll be tight, but we’ll make it.” Tony nodded grimly as he looked around the hall. He didn’t know what to do.

Steve did. “At ease,” he ordered. As one unit the children braced their feet and tucked their hands behind them. “Fall out,” Steve ordered.

The difference was startling. The children broke their ranks and walked up to the doors of their cells, looking out with curious eyes. Some of them looked fearful. Others wary. But most, particularly one child that looked too much like Tony for his comfort, were curious.

“Hi,” Tony said, waving.

“Hello,” the boy said politely. “Are you Iron Man?”

“I am.”

“I’m supposed to be you when I grow up,” the boy said calmly.

The realization that this boy was being raised not just as a soldier, but as a _replacement_ floored Tony. It made sense, of course. What better way to get into Stark technology than by using someone who was already a Stark? Someone who had been trained from a young age to _obey_ and not to think too much about things like consequences—or people.

“Well, maybe,” Tony said as the possibilities reeled inside his head like a death march. “If you want to, one day,” he said.

The boy looked confused. “If I want to?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Tony slid the face plate open so that the boy could see his face. “Being Iron Man is a choice, you know.”

“It is?” The boy looked—uncomfortable with the thought.

“Oh, yeah. But don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to decide if you want to be Iron Man. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be someone greater.”


	113. Chapter 113

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the mansion and with the children...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two POV's this chapter, because I wasn't really with either long enough to make it a real chapter. Hope you enjoy anyway!

“Dammit Chuck, this talking in my head shit’s getting old,” grumbled Logan as he walked into the office.

Charles chuckled and wheeled his chair around to face the mutant. “And yet,” he pointed out calmly, amused, “you don’t do anything to block it.”

Logan shrugged. “Ain’t like there’s anything you haven’t seen,” he said with irrefutable logic. “Jean’s got the kids turning the place upside-down making room for new kids.”

“Does she?” asked Charles calmly.

“Scott’s got some of the older kids with all the future seeing kids. They’re still shaking.”

“Poor things.”

“You’re doing it again,” Logan said wearily.

A thin, almost invisible eyebrow raised on the bald man’s face. “Am I?” he asked maddeningly.

Logan sighed. “Why am I here Chuck?” he demanded.

“We’re about to be inundated with children and I need someone to sit on Erik.” Charles watched as Logan twitched. The, quieter, “He’s worried about his children.”

Logan stood, thoughtfully for a moment. Charles wasn’t worried. He knew the strong, immortal mutant would do what was necessary. Finally Logan sighed and crossed the room before opening the cabinet and inputting a code that Charles would have sworn the man didn’t know in order to open the hidden liquor cabinet.

“I do try not to allow too much alcohol in the presence of impressionable children,” Charles said wryly as he watched Logan unerringly grab the finest bottle of scotch in the cabinet.

Logan snorted. “Whatever you want Chuck,” he said. “But the best way to keep Magneto out of trouble is to get him too drunk to cause it.” Logan grabbed a cheap bottle of brandy, the only kind that Logan himself would drink, and snorted. “Good thing your pal’s a lightweight,” he said as he left the room.

Scott, pale under his goggles, came in after him, not even stopping to whisper an insult to Logan like normal. “It’s bad Xavier,” he said grimly. “I’ve finally gotten the kids calmed down, but they saw something real bad.”

A pink haired Asian girl peeked in around him. “We need more beds,” she said firmly. “Lots more.”

Charles regarded the young girl curiously. Her precognitive powers were erratic, but more reliable than those of the others her age. “What did you see?” he asked.

She frowned as she looked for the words to answer. English was not her first language and at times like this she had trouble speaking. “Waves. Bad air, lots of bad air. Fighting. Monsters. Ellie is coming.” Yukio nodded and left.

“She’s the calmest of them,” Scott remarked as the child left.

“She’s had more practice being calm,” Charles remarked, the closest he would ever come to divulging the child’s background. He still remembered her mother, begging him to take the girl away from her father before she lost her humanity. “Well, it might be well to tell Jean to prepare for two hundred children to come.”

Scott frowned. “I thought Tony said it would be about twenty.”

Charles smiled. “And Yukio told us to prepare more beds.”

***

“But what if it’s a trap?” asked Juby nervously. “Like what Runaways Unite were doing, but, you know, bigger?”

Ellie thought about it. Not for the first time, she cursed her ability to only tell what danger was going to happen while she was sleeping. But—if it was a trap, would Angel have introduced the man?

Then again, she’d made sure that he didn’t go anywhere near their safe place. That he didn’t know what paths most of them liked to take. Had said nothing when the twins weren’t there.

At the same time, she’d let him speak his piece. Hadn’t interrupted him. Hadn’t directed their questions. Hadn’t intervened.

Would she? If she knew it was a trap? Would she tell them what they were heading for, or would she let them figure it out for themselves? They didn’t really know a lot _about_ Angel. They assumed she was a protector because she’d protected them from the Snipers—but what did that really mean? What did Angel really want?

“Oof,” said a voice near the front of the safe place. Angel was trying to get through the door carrying what looked like a double armload of red clothes. “These are awkward,” she said cheerfully as she dropped the items on the floor next to the door and looked at the pile with a small smile on her face. “That was a job well done,” she said with a stretch as she looked around. “What’s up?”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” asked Ellie.

There was no need for Angel to ask what. She took a moment to think it over. “You don’t,” she said finally. “You simply don’t have all the information you need to determine if it _is_ a trap or not.” Ellie glared at her as Juby and several of the smaller kids crumpled. “Calm down,” Angel said softly. “Listen to me. You don’t _have_ enough information, but you can _get_ it.”

“How?” demanded Ellie. If there was a way to find out—to know for _sure—_

Angel crossed her arms as she looked at Ellie, amusement on her face. “Stop.” Angel advised, as she had before. “Think. What do you need?”

“Information.” This was simple.

Angel nodded. “How do you get information?”

This was a little harder and Ellie frowned. “Ask someone who knows,” she said slowly, piecing it together.

“And who knows? No, not me,” Angel said as Ellie looked at her. “Who knows?”

The image of the bald man, the one that had been smart enough to let her be a day student, the one that even Mr. Parker was freaked out by, came to her mind. “Professor X,” she said.

Angel grinned again. “Good thought. If you want,” Angel offered, “I can get you there tonight so you can ask.”

Ellie watched the older girl for a moment. She was being—unusually proactive. “All right,” Ellie agreed walking over to her. “I’ll be back,” she told the others. As she walked past the pile of red she stopped, turned, and stared at it. “Angel,” she said quietly.

“Yes?” Angel asked, false innocence written all over her face.

Ellie picked up one pieces. “Angel, these are Wade’s suits.”

“Yes,” said Angel. The older girl looked pleased, and not as though she was courting certain death. “Yes they are.”

Ellie rubbed her head feeling as though she was the older one for a moment. “Angel, why are Wade’s suits here?” she asked.

“I’m playing Cupid!” Angel said excitedly. Then she chuckled, calming down more to her normal levels. “Seriously, I just want their relationship to kick up a notch before I leave. I don’t have much time left.”

There were so many questions Ellie wanted to ask. Why was Angel invested in their relationship? Why was it so important to her that the two of them “kick it up a notch”? Did she even know how dangerous Wade was?

“Wade’s going to kill you,” Ellie said flatly.

Angel’s grin reminded her of a shark she’d seen once on TV. “He can try,” she said smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate having a malfunctioning heater at work. I'm always so tired when I finally warm up at home. Sorry this wasn't up sooner.


	114. Chapter 114

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this is what Angel had in mind...
> 
> ;)

Wade stared at the back of his closet, mortified. The only thing in it was an old, threadbare hoodie that he almost never wore anymore but hadn’t gotten around to throwing it out, and a pair of jeans hanging on a hanger (he never hung his pants). He reached out and grabbed the pair of jeans to see that there was a paper taped to them.

The picture, in startling realism, depicted an amused Angel, who was winking.

[That bitch stole our suits!]

{Why? I thought she liked us?}

[Peter’s here! We can’t just waltz out wearing this when Peter’s here!]

“Wade?” called Peter as he walked into the room.

Wade’s heart sunk. He couldn't, _couldn't_ undress in front of Peter. Sure the younger man hadn’t flinched away from Wade’s scars—

[That we know of. We were asleep when he first saw them, remember?]

—but that didn’t mean he was ready to see the extent of the devastation that was Wade’s body.

“Wade? What’s wrong?” asked Peter as he walked up. He laid a gentle hand on Wade’s arm.

Wade’s very horribly colored arm. He couldn't stay in this suit, not now that he’d realized it was the wrong color. It itched at his psyche, worse than his skin itched on a hot day in the suit.

“Oh.” The small sound informed Wade that Peter saw the picture.

“Yeah.” Wade didn’t look up. He didn’t dare look up. He was afraid.

“Angel—stole your clothes?” Peter said, sounding confused.

“Just my suits,” Wade mourned.

“Your suits? Why would she…oh, Angel,” Peter said softly. Wade didn’t look up until two hands firmly gripped his head and gently forced him to look at Peter. “It’s okay Wade,” Peter said firmly. “It’s okay.”

Wade could feel the tears dampening the mask he was wearing. He felt naked and raw in front of Peter’s gaze.

[We’re still safe. We’re still in a suit.]

Peter pulled Wade towards him with surprising (not surprising) strength. “I love you Wade,” Peter said softly as he rubbed his head against the side of Wade’s mask.

Slowly, Wade felt himself relax. He wasn’t with some random squeamish person who would scream, run, or throw up at the sight of his face. This was _Peter_.

“ _You keep calling yourself a monster,” Peter said. “I don’t see a monster when I look at you.”_

“ _What_ do _you see?” Wade asked._

“ _I see a man who’s gone through Hell and gotten back up and still has the humanity to care about other people.” A smooth, soft hand came rest against Wade’s face as Peter cupped his cheek. “You’re stronger than you think you are, Wade Wilson.”_

Before he could second-guess himself anymore, Wade ripped the mask off, facing Peter.

Peter, who did not scream.

Peter, who did not run away.

Peter, who did not throw up.

Peter, who smiled warmly and said, “There you are,” before gently cupping the side of Wade’s face once again. Wade took a deep, shuddering breath and gently pressed his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. “See? It’s all right.”

Wade wrapped his arms around Peter. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always,” Peter promised. He turned his head and Wade felt the tiny kisses pepper the side of his face. “Always for you,” Peter said again.

With a groan Wade pulled away. “I have to—I have to change,” he said. He didn’t want to leave Peter’s side.

{No! Hug Petey-Pie!}

Peter lifted his hand to Wade’s face again, a smile in his eyes. “Really?” he asked. He leaned in and gave Wade a chaste kiss on the lips. “I like you just the way you are.”

[Lies!]

{Not from Petey-Pie!}

“My _clothes_ ,” Wade said with a smile of his own as he gently rapped Peter’s shoulder. “I have to change my clothes.”

Peter smiled in clear understanding. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

[Yes.]

{Never!}

“You don’t have to,” Wade said, surprising himself.

Peter’s hand gently traced the folds of his neck, down his arm, and gently—so, _so_ gently—to the edges of his fingers before letting go and leaning against the wall. “If I don’t have to,” Peter said softly, “then I won’t.”

Wade’s fingers trembled as he began to take off the suit. How? How had he gotten such a wonderful boyfriend?

[You launched a sword through a speaker.]

{And the way he cut paper against it was so hot!}

[At least we know _why_ he wasn’t startled, or frightened. How many times have we thrown our sword around Spiderman?]

Wade focused on what the boxes were saying to keep from freaking out about how he was exposing his skin to the person behind him. He could feel the prickle of Peter’s gaze, but it didn’t feel like most gazes that Wade felt. It wasn’t disgusted, horrified, or full of pity. If Peter was anyone else he’d throw himself out the window, find Angel, and demand his suits back.

But this was Peter.

And Spidey.

His two favorite people in the world. The two people he _trusted_ , more than he trusted himself. He could do this. He changed quickly, grateful for the amount of skin that the hoodie and pants covered. The only part he couldn't completely cover was his face.

Despite everything, he hesitated in turning around. He knew that he wouldn't see revulsion or hatred on Peter’s face—but there was that tiny part of him that wasn’t _sure_. He turned.

Peter looked up with a smile and reached for him again. “Hey handsome,” he said warmly as Wade tentatively took his hand. “What do you want to do now?” he asked.

“Video games?” Wade asked hesitantly. He wanted to do something together, and video games seemed like a good idea. Spidey loved the games, after all.

Peter’s face twisted into a grimace. “Not Barbie!” he said firmly.

“Mario Kart?” Peter grinned and the two of them headed into the living room. Wade was slightly surprised when Peter took his controller and slipped into Wade’s lap, pressing his back against Wade’s body.

[Not sure why. This is how the two of you played before he moved back to his place.]

{After we kidnapped him?}

As the screen was loading Peter turned and gave Wade another kiss. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said softly.

Wade hugged the younger man without dropping the controller. “Me too,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have to admit. That last bit was taken from one of LieSinPain's Spideypool pictures.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377944/chapters/44713135#workskin
> 
> Show his stuff some love people. It's great! :)


	115. Chapter 115

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at the manor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Bleep keeps happening. Blah.

“I don’t see why you’re having Scott prepare so many—”

Charles lifted a hand, cutting Jean off mid-sentence as he focused. There was—Ellie? Coming towards the manor? Quickly, far too quickly for a car. Was she flying? How?

“Jean,” Charles said as he tried to track the child without actually reading her mind—a skill far more difficult than one would believe, “we have a guest arriving with haste. Let us prepare to see what she wants. His mind slipped into hers for a brief moment and he added, “Please take some blankets with you. I believe there are some coming out of the dryer now.” He calmly began to roll his chair towards the door, determined to make it there with his own hands.

Two hairy hands that were almost paws gripped the handles of the chair. “Chuck,” said Logan wearily, “we’ve been over this.”

“We have,” agreed Charles amiably as he rested his hands on the sides of the chair while Logan pushed. “I _can_ do things for myself you know.”

Logan snorted as the scenery rolled by. “Sure you can.”

“I am not weak—”

“Course not.”

Charles sighed. It was an argument he wouldn't win. He wasn’t certain that he wanted to. “Tell me,” he said instead, “how Erik is doing?”

“Passed out drunk,” Logan said cheerfully. Of course, he was usually only cheerful when drinking or killing. Or watching other people do those things. He and Jean had frequent arguments about what was appropriate for children to hear.

Charles gave a thoughtful hum as he was wheeled to the door. They reached it at the same time as Jean with the heated blankets. “I do hope he has pleasant dreams,” he said thoughtfully. Logan snorted once more as the door was open to reveal two people.

One of them Charles knew. The young girl, about Yukio’s age, stood on the steps. She was shivering in her oversized clothes, pale, and looking exceptionally angry. Then again, Ellie was almost always angry.

The other was new. Charles’s attention zoomed in on her, not because of the obvious mutation of her wings, or the odd sparkling full body leotard she was wearing, but because he couldn't sense her. He could see her. He could hear her talking. He could feel a slight breeze as her wings moved. But as far as his mind was concerned she didn’t exist.

Jean quickly threw a warmed blanket over the girl and she began to shiver. “H—h—how are—are you no—not _freezing_?” Ellie demanded.

“I’ve been flying since I was six,” the older girl said, slightly amused and clearly very worried. Her hands rubbed the cooling blanket around Ellie, as though trying to keep some of the heat in. “I don’t notice the temperature change anymore.” Ellie muttered something that Charles didn’t catch but made the older girl grin. “Of course not,” said the girl, a playful note in her voice.

Something about her was naggingly familiar, and yet Charles would swear that he’d never seen the child before.

“Come on Ellie,” Jean said kindly. “Let’s get you warm.”

“You’re a menace!” Ellie snapped at the older girl.

The older girl chuckled. “You’ve been reading too much Daily Bugle,” she called out as Ellie was led away, still muttering. “Ah, what a cute kid,” the older girl said with a fond smile before looking at Charles.

The amber eyes felt like they were looking into Charles’s soul. “I can’t sense you,” he said in wonder.

The girl snorted, sounding remarkably like Logan for a moment. “I would hope not. I have good shields.” She met his gaze again and gave an odd, lopsided grin. “I was trained by the best,” she said.

“And who’s that?” growled Logan. Charles could feel the mutant bristling behind him.

Odd. Usually Logan was only irritated towards either Deadpool or his brother, both of whom had extensive healing capabilities. Charles regarded the young girl once again. “Do you have a healing factor?” he asked her.

She nodded, looking surprised. “A pretty darned good one,” she confirmed. “How did you—ah.” She nodded again, looking thoughtful. “It’s possible,” she said slowly, “that I’ve been getting cold damage and just healing it quick enough not to notice it, but that doesn’t really make much sense,” she added with a frown. “Because I’ve been cold. I mean _cold_ cold, like bone-chilled cold.” The girl shivered, obviously lost in thought for a moment. “Terrifying,” she muttered. Her wings flipped and she seemed to set the matter aside. “Lots of activity going on in there,” she noted.

Charles couldn't help but give a small smile. Like many, she was curious. She was also not going to ask. “We are about to get guests,” Charles informed her. She looked confused. “Mr. Stark—”

She was quicker than he’d thought she’d be. “This is about those children from Project 23?” she asked.

“Yes, he was thinking he could bring them here—”

Color drained from the girl’s face. “Sweet merciful Jesus,” she swore softly. “He doesn’t know what he’s walking into!” She whirled.

Logan was slightly faster, despite having to maneuver around the chair. “We’ll take the jet. It’s faster.”

The girl looked at him and a smile quirked at the edge of her lips. “It’s cute that you think so,” she said before launching herself into the air and speeding away. Her form vanished over the horizon in a few seconds.

“What is she worried about?” asked Logan. He was a mixture of anger, worry, and hurt pride.

Charles nearly basked in the emotions after the odd blank space that had been the girl. “It might,” Charles said as he turned his chair around, “be prudent for you and Scott to get the jet. Just in case,” he added.


	116. Chapter 116

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is helping lead the children out of the facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, uh--I kind of suck at action scenes. So constructive criticism wanted.

Clint flinched out of the way just before one of the children stabbed him (and where did the little fucker get a knife?). “Come on, Kid,” he said pleadingly.

It was like talking to a doll. The kid had no expression on his face, eyes were blank and almost looked dead, and he attacked mechanically. Clint slipped, the kid raised the knife, and—

Suddenly a pink suited figure was between them, neatly catching the child’s hand. “That’s enough of that,” the winged girl said firmly as she disarmed the child.

Clint was worried, from the way the child yelped, that she’d hurt the kid somehow—but his worries were unfounded. He looked around the narrow hallway. He hadn’t even heard her enter the place, never mind come up on him. “How’d you even _get_ here?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I flew, duh,” she said before turning back to the kid. “You’re not doing that,” she told him firmly.

The kid looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

“14-S,” the girl said.

Clint paused. That—wasn’t a name. From the shock on the kid’s face, he wasn’t expecting that either. “They stopped working on S,” he said warily.

“Is that what they told you?” asked the girl, wry amusement coloring her voice. “The people who put you in cages? Starve you as much as they dare? Who _lie_?”

Clint filed these words away for the moment. He was going to need Laura’s insight later into this girl. She might actually be a threat that they would need to take down. This child was dangerous, whether or not she was a threat.

And where had she come from, anyway?

The boy watched her for a moment. Another child, this one with dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes rose up behind him. “What’s it to you?” he demanded hotly. Clint couldn't help but notice the static way the blond boy’s eyes faced ahead, no matter what his face was doing. Was the kid blind?

“Does it matter?”

Watching the way the blond boy’s head moved when the girl spoke Clint had to assume he was.

The winged girl was watching the boy. “I don’t know you,” she said after a moment. “Who are you?”

_Who_ , she said. Not,  _what_ . She knew that these children were people and that—that was important if he could get Laura to translate it for him.

“27-D,” the blond boy stated.

D. Daredevil. The boy was like a small copy of the red devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Clint stared at the child with a small amount of horror, insanely glad that breaking news of the man’s fatherhood didn’t fall to  _him_ .

“Well, 27-D,” the girl said calmly, “Gather your little soldiers and go to the training ground. I’m about to be your new alpha.” The two children scamper off. “They really do have potential,” she said confidentially to Clint.

“To be charming little psychopaths?” asked Clint with a wry smile.

She rolled her eyes. “To be  _children_ ,” she told him.

Clint looked at the young children, not a one of them could be more than ten years old, swarming towards them. “What are they now?” he asked her.

Her lips tightened and her eyes became shadowed before she spoke. “Soldiers.” She moved with the children towards the courtyard. 

No. It wasn’t a courtyard. Not to  _these_ children. It was a training ground.

Natasha appeared next to Clint. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

“A dominance battle?” asked Clint as he followed the group. When he got there the older girl was surrounded by the children. They were in what he immediately recognized as attack stances. She was not. In fact, she seemed faintly amused.

The first one attacked. She dodged, easily twisting out of the way. Her feet didn’t move. Same with the next three attacks.  Two of the children nodded at each other and each attacked from a different direction. She twisted, rolling one of the children along a wing. The child turned and grabbed into the wing, taking a few feathers from it when what looked like a gentle flip of the wing sent him tumbling.

“Don’t do that,” she said firmly.

“Why?” demanded the kid, still holding a double handful of feathers.

She sighed. “Look,” she said reasonably, “a swan can break a grown man’s arm with its wings. I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she added dryly, “but I’m a lot bigger than a  _swan_ .” She looked around. “And none of you know what a ‘swan’  _is_ , I forgot.”

She forgot. She also fought like a trained professional. The kids did too, but she was in another league. It was like watching Natasha fighting with SHIELD rookies. 

It was eerily like watching Natasha fight. Their stances, moves, and body shifts could have come from the same body—except for the wings. “She’s good,” Natasha noted beside him, voice soft.

“I’d better be,” the girl drawled as she flipped another child with her wing. “I learned from one of the best.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. How had she heard that? Natasha hadn’t been speaking loudly, just enough for him to hear. Him, and apparently this girl. “Who taught you?” he asked, under his breath, just to see if she could hear it.

She whirled (still not moving her feet) to face him, a kid in each hand and one tangled in a wing as she stared at him for a moment before she snorted. “Seriously?” she asked, clearly incredulous. “You have to ask?” She rolled her eyes. “If you have to ask,” she said, a mocking note in her voice, “then you’ll never know.” She went back to her battle with the kids, gently tossing a boy (who looked suspiciously like Tony) towards the two former SHIELD agents.

The boy wiped sweat from his brow as he glared at the girl. “She’s tough,” he muttered.

“Tougher than you think,” Clint said. When the kid looked at him with hard eyes he added, “Look at her feet.” When the boy did Clint said, “She hasn’t moved them from that spot since she started sparring with you lot.”

The boy gave a low growl. “We can’t use our powers without  _permission_ ,” he said.

Wait. What? These children had powers? That they needed permission to use? All of them? Since they had been made from the genetic material of the heroes of the world,  _some_ of them would definitely have powers—but the boy insinuated that they  _all_ did.

The boy stood up and called out, “Enough!” He pointed at the winged girl, shaking with either rage or exhaustion, Clint couldn't tell which. “You’re not even taking this seriously!” he accused.

She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Well, duh,” she said. “If I take this ‘seriously’ you would all be dead.” She looked around, taking a moment to meet the eyes of each child. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“You’re not hurting us either,” a pale girl, covered in dirt from the battle, piped up. 

“Do I need to?” The older girl looked around meeting the eyes in front of her quickly, firmly.

The children slumped. “No,” said the boy wearily. “Alpha.”

That was another thing. What were they talking about? What was all of this about “alpha”?

“Good. I have two orders,” she told the children. The children—soldiers—immediately snapped to attention where they stood. “One, listen to these people.” She jerked a thumb towards Natasha and Clint where they were standing. “Unlike the people you _have_ been dealing with, they actually want to help you.”

“And two?” asked the boy.

She looked at him for a moment. “You’re allowed to use your powers,” she told him. Only a slight widening of the eyes around her showed the  children’s surprise—and only the slightest cringe showed the team why.

Clint noticed Natasha looking back at the bloody smear on the other side of the training ground. He could feel her satisfaction that something terrible had happened to the adults of this place. Clint shared—but was also wary. Why did something terrible happen to the adults of this place? 

More importantly: why did whatever was responsible for the terrible thing that happened to the adults leave the children behind untouched?

“So we can attack you with our powers?” demanded the boy.

The girl tossed her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed. “Do you think it would make a difference?” she asked.

The boy slumped in place. “No.”

The girl smiled at him. Suddenly she sniffed and straightened. “I can’t  _believe_ they thought that would be faster than  _me_ .” She looked at Clint. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or feel insulted.”

“What?” He turned as he began to hear the familiar whine of a jet engine and turned to see a startlingly familiar silver jet. “Is that—the X Men?”

“They’re late,” the girl said scathingly. Clint turned just in time to see her flip her wings as she glared at the swiftly oncoming jet. “All right, you lot remember my orders?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

“Good.” The girl nodded once more and then took to the sky.

“I don’t understand,” Clint said to Natasha.

“We’ll work on that,” Natasha replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with the story. See, there's this thing going on with Youtube. I think MattPatt explains it best.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pd604xskDmU
> 
> So, another creator I watch, had an idea.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/user/Bobsheaux/community
> 
> I'm not asking anyone to participate. Make your own decisions.


	117. Chapter 117

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie talks to the professor and Yukio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update. Fighting a bug that's going around. Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Ellie waited as the bald man—Professor X, she had to get used to the way these people threw their names around so casually—gently tapped the tips of his fingers together as he watched  her. The bald man finally spoke. “ No,” the man said thoughtfully, “Mr. Stark is not developing a sophisticated trap for you street children. He really does want you around to help the children he is rescuing adjust to a less—clinical environment.”

“He means practical isolation, short rations, extreme discipline, and torture,” a voice calmly states behind Ellie. She whirls to see Yukio who grins and waves. “Hi, Ellie!” she said brightly.

“Hi, Yukio,” said Ellie, relaxing. While she wasn’t entirely certain about the adults in this place, she knew she could count on Yukio. She didn’t even protest when the other girl grabbed her in a fierce hug before looking at the professor again.

Professor X had a small smile on his face as he  watched the two of them. “Yukio is essentially correct,” he said mildly. “If slightly frightening about it,” he said with an odd waggle of his thin, almost invisible eyebrow. Yukio giggled. “While Mr. Stark means you and the other children no harm,” the professor continued, “the truth of the matter is that these children have had an entirely alien upbringing than yours, and while  _Mr. Stark_ may mean you no harm and, in fact, merely wants all the best for you, there’s no telling what the new  _children_ , many of whom have verified powers in their own rights, will want.  It may be dangerous for the two groups to stay together.”

Before Ellie met Angel she would have snarled about the professor had no idea how dangerous the life of a street child  _was_ . Now—she stopped. Took a moment to think. What would it be like?

True, life was dangerous for them  _now_ , but they had an escape. They had a safe place, somewhere no adults (except Angel, who didn’t really count, and Copper, who didn’t know exactly where it was) knew of.  If the worst happened—they could leave.

If they were living in a new place, where they didn’t know the lay of the land (although the other children would have the same disadvantage) they wouldn't have that. They wouldn't be able to leave if things got bad; they’d be stuck. 

But—most of the street kids could fight back. And they were more than capable of teaming up, providing a united front. So—they could defend themselves, make the place a little more their own.

Of course, there was the fact that the adults running this place actually wanted the  _other_ children—the street children were an afterthought. A bonus. It was possible, more than possible, that any altercation would automatically be settled in the favor of the  other children. And that—would be difficult.

That was also assuming that the children  _would_ divide; us vs. them. That they wouldn't all band together like the street children had. Of course, the street children hadn’t had anyone else to look after them. 

Or, they  _hadn’t—_ until Mr. Parker came along.

Ellie whirled and wrapped her arms around Yukio, who was still holding her. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

Yukio’s arms tightened around her. “I do,” she said.

“Is it a good idea?”

“I think so.”

Reassured, Ellie turned back to the professor. “ Is it possible,” she asked slowly, “for us to be  _here_ at the same time? On neutral ground? Just to see?”

The professor’s smile widened slightly. “It most certainly is. In fact, those children are on their way here now.”

Ellie nodded as a light tapping began on the window behind the professor.  She looked up to see Angel hovering at the window, walked over, and opened it. “Well!” said Angel cheerfully as she rested her arms on the window, stopped moving her wings, and held her entire weight with her forearms. “That’s sorted!”

“How strong are you?” demanded Ellie looking at the arms. They didn’t even seem to be straining, like she could hold that pose for hours—maybe days, if she had to.

“That depends on what kind of strength you’re talking about,” said Angel. At Ellie’s confused look she elaborated, “There are different kinds. Social strength, emotional strength, physical—”

Ellie’d had enough. “Can you take me back to the others? We have something to discuss.”

Angel sighed as she looked at Ellie. “Is that a good idea?” she asked. “You got really cold last time.”

“I’m sure we can find something warmer for Ellie to wear,” Professor X said.

Yukio gave a loud squeal and grabbed Ellie’s hand. “Come on!” she said, clearly excited. “I have the  _perfect_ outfit for you!”


	118. Chapter 118

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gets confronted by Pepper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Updates will be choppy; I'm fighting a bug and having trouble looking at the screen.

G wen held her breath as the organic matrix in front of her shivered. Would it hold? Would it break apart? Could she possibly have—

The matrix gave one last shudder and turned to sludge and she glared at the goop as she reached under her glasses to rub her eyes. That last iteration should have worked. It had  _almost_ worked. Now she had to figure out which variable was the one that held it together as long as it had…

Gwen glanced at the screen she’d been logging her information on and the figures blurred and swam as she got light headed. She quickly grabbed a chair and sat down as her vision darkened and then brightened again. She needed more sleep.

She groaned and rubbed her face, trying to wake up. Damn her roommates anyway! What the Hell was wrong with those two?

“ _We’re concerned because Deadpool walked you to the building.”_

Gwen’s memory painted the sentence with a whine that, unfortunately, hadn’t been present at the time. Making it sound like the woman had been whining made her feel better about what had happened.

“ _We can’t risk something happening to us.”_

Yeah, they couldn’t “risk” something happening to  _them_ , but had no problem throwing Gwen out on her ass!  It was oh! So! Dangerous for a known killer (who  _hasn’t_ , by the way, actually been killing) to walk Gwen to the apartment building. So dangerous, that it must have been a miracle that Gwen survived—to find housing somewhere else, with forty-eight hours notice.

Gwen strongly believed they wouldn't even have allowed her that much time to pack if it hadn’t been in the leasing agreement. Or if they hadn’t known that she was intimately familiar with every last detail of the leasing agreement.

Bitches.

Gwen took a deep breath. Slowly inhale. Hold. Slowly exhale. There was nothing she could do to the vicious, petty, vindictive little shrews that she used to live with. She needed to move on.

And she clearly wasn’t getting work done right now, so she could move  on to other, also necessary work. She needed to find a new place to live. Someone, sooner or later, was going to notice that she was literally living in the lab, and she needed somewhere to go before that happened.

P roblem was, New Amsterdam seemed to be in the middle of a housing shortage. The only places that Gwen could find were in neighborhoods that did  _not_ have nearly enough security—especially considering that she was getting followed by goons from another company. She couldn't count on being rescued every time.

She was so wrapped up in trying to find a new place that she didn’t hear the doors to the lab open, or the footsteps as someone walked in behind her.  She was frowning at the computer monitor when her intruder spoke.

“Working hard, Dr. Stacey?”

Gwen yelped, jumped, and whirled—to come face to face with Pepper. “Pepper,” she said nervously. It was late. It was  _super_ late; Pepper shouldn't have been in the building. “What are—you doing…here?”

Pepper looked over the rumpled scientist and Gwen wildly wondered if she’d left something—anything—out that would give away the fact that she was living in the lab. “Perhaps,” Pepper said mildly, “I should ask you the same question.  Are you planning on sleeping in your lab again, Dr. Stacey?”

Gwen slumped. She’d been caught. There were no ways around it now. “How long have you known?” she asked wearily.

“That you were sleeping in your lab? I just assumed you were so focused on your project that you didn’t leave. It happens frequently enough to Tony, after all.”

The use of past tense didn’t get past Gwen. “Hehe,” she laughed weakly.

Pepper pulled up a chair. “Want to tell me why you’re sleeping in the lab?” she asked kindly.

Aside from Peter, the lab assistant, it was the first kindness Gwen had experienced since she’d gotten kicked out of her apartment. She found the entire story bubbling from her lips;  the creepy guy following her, ducking into an alley to avoid him, Deadpool saving her from a mugger and walking her home, and her (former) roommates throwing her out of the apartment.

Pepper listened to it all calmly.  Her expression didn’t change, she nodded at all the right parts—and this was it. Gwen was going to get fired for abusing company property. They all knew that living in the labs wasn’t allowed; that there was a mandatory limit for how long they could stay. That Pepper had waited this long was nothing but a kindness.

At the end of Gwen’s story, Pepper pursed her lips. “Do you have any idea who your attacker was?” she asked. “Did he say who he was working for?”

Gwen grimaced. “No,” she said wearily. Now that she’d gotten her emotional spew out of the way she just felt drained.

“Well, Dr. Stacey,” Pepper said slowly, “in light of what you just told me—”

Gwen closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear it. She knew she was going to be evicted for the second time—this time from her own lab.

“—we’re going to have to move you to one of the upper floors,” Pepper continued. 

What? Gwen opened her eyes in shock to see Pepper tapping on her ever-present Starkpad. “What?” she asked.

Pepper frowned. “I’m not going to penalize you for being an attractive target,” she said. “We should have done a better job protecting you. Are you aware that Tony hired mercenaries to walk people home?”

So the rumor about the new “guards” being mercenaries was confirmed. Not that Gwen would ever tell anyone. “They were busy,” Gwen admitted.

“Hmm. Well, fewer potential security breaches this way. Grab your things.” Gwen obeyed meekly. “Good.” Pepper led the way to the elevator. “I’ll get you your own card in the morning,” Pepper said calmly as she swiped her own in the elevator, “you’ll need an access card to get to the floors.”

“The elevator goes all the way up to the roof,” Gwen felt obliged to point out.

“Yes, but it won’t stop on the private floors without the card swipe,” Pepper said in explanation. “I’m putting you in the empty room next to Bucky and Steve. Don’t worry; the rooms are soundproof.” The elevator stopped and opened and Gwen, carrying her sleeping bag and the tote with a change of clothes in it, followed Pepper to the room. “Here you are.” Pepper tapped something on the wall and a square lit up. “Put your hand here.” Gwen obeyed and light went red, then blue, and a click before the door in front of her opened. “Good, it’s now registered as your room. No more sleeping in your lab.” Pepper left.

Gwen walked into the large room, mostly decorated in blue, and stared. There was a bathroom to one side, a huge closet, and a small kitchen. The bed was huge, easily a king size, and the mattress was softer than the one she’d had at her old apartment.

A smile broke across her face as she thought about how she was now living with the Avengers.

If only her former roommates could see her now.


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and the children prepare to leave the safe place.

Ellie supervised the children as they packed from the safe place. One of them stopped to talk to Angel. “It will still be here, won’t it?” asked the child, tears pricking the corners of the eyes and making them shimmer.

Angel simply rubbed a hand over the kid’s hair and gently said, “I don’t foresee this moving anywhere anytime soon. And if it does move, it won’t move far.”

Hold up. “It can move?” Ellie asked as she narrowed her eyes at the older girl.

Angel nodded. “It can move, but it will only move if it feels threatened.”

“What?”

Angel continued, “ And right now I think I’m the only thing in the city that can threaten it, and I’m not.” She reached out and gently rubbed the wall. “I’m no threat to you,” she said fondly.

This wasn’t the first time that Angel had implied that the safe place was alive, but it was the first time that Ellie believed she was serious. After all, adults (and some of the children for that matter) talked about cars, houses, bicycles, scooters, and the sewer tunnels being alive, and none of them were. Ellie just thought that Angel was doing the same with the safe place.

Except—this meant she wasn’t. She was talking about the safe place like it was alive,  _because it was alive_ . Ellie didn’t know how to feel about that.

Remy sidled up to Ellie, his stuff in his arms (none of the children had much in the way of stuff; nothing more than they could carry). “You really think this is a good idea?” he asked as he watched the others grabbing their stuff.

Ellie felt her lips purse together. “We aren’t going to be able to live here forever,”  she told him. “And—and we all need an education.” Going to school had opened Ellie’s eyes to how much the adult world valued education—education that the street children didn’t have.

Girl Twin came up to Ellie, eyes wide. “What about Copper?” she asked. (The twins didn’t like hiding their genders. Ellie allowed it; the city was safer for them without the Snipers and Runaways Unite.) 

Ellie paused. It was a good question; what about Copper? She wasn’t a child, so she couldn't go with them to the manor. They couldn't just put her back out on the street, because there were still people hunting for her. They couldn't just leave her in the safe place, because she had no idea where the safe place was, and no idea how to get anywhere. Besides, Angel was right—the safe place wasn’t self-sustaining yet, and Copper was going to need to eat. Actually, Copper probably needed eat more than she was getting, but there wasn’t a lot of food to go around.

Ellie looked up at Angel. She might help—or she might not. Ellie wasn’t certain where Angel drew her lines between helping and letting things happen as they would. “Do you have an idea?” she asked the older girl.

“I might,” Angel said thoughtfully as she turned her attention towards the young woman. “Let’s see if she’s up for it.”

Ellie watched as Angel carefully picked her way through the packing kids (occasionally using her wings to just hop over one) until she got to where Copper was sitting, Boy Twin in her lap. She couldn't hear the conversation from here, and she was (almost) certain that was intentional.

“By the way,” Remy said, “nice outfit.”

Ellie was wearing one of Yukio’s jumpsuits; it was thickly quilted and had an odd flower petal pattern in the material. She refused to admit the heat that rose to her face was anything more than the fact the suit was  _warm_ . “Angel flies high,” Ellie said instead. “I needed something that would keep me from freezing.”

“I also fly _fast_ ,” Angel said, having somehow snuck up on both of them through the chaos. She grinned and gave Ellie a thumbs up. “I have a destination for Copper, but she wants to make sure the twins are all right first.”

“And you don’t want us to know what that destination is,” Ellie said flatly. Angel just shrugged. There was no point in hounding Angel for details she wasn’t going to give. They’d all learned that. “All right!” Ellie called over the group. “Time to go!” She watched warily as Copper meekly submitted to being blindfolded.

Ellie still didn’t trust the young woman. True, she seemed pleasant enough. She asked for nothing that they couldn't give, didn’t try to order them around (like some adults would have) and mostly kept to herself. Ellie still didn’t trust her to know where the safe place was. After all, the children might need it again.

As usual, Remy was the first out and Ellie was the last. As she was leaving, she hesitated. Angel had said the safe place was alive. Would it get lonely? What if it wouldn't let them back in? She reached out and gently pat the wall, like she’d seen Angel do. “Thanks for protecting us,” she said.

The walls, for just one moment, glowed a soft pink before Ellie fled after the rest of the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So question that has nothing to do with the story, but Christmas is coming. I found out that some people celebrate the Twelve Days starting on December Twelfth (so that Christmas Eve is the Twelfth Day), and others start it at December 25. Which do you think is better?


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has an exciting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter kind of summarizes several hours, but soon I'll be hopping between POV's for the same incident. Thank you for your patience and continuing to read this. :) <3

Peter absently changed a single factor in the stabilizing gel, applied the organic matrix, and set up the test. Then, while the computer was working, he took a moment to remember what had happened last night. The computer would let him know when he needed to check back in with the matrix.

As much as he hated the fact that Angel had taken Wade’s ability to hide away without his consent, Peter couldn't help but admit that he’d really enjoyed last night. He found what Angel had done to be abhorrent—after all, she’d taken Wade’s ability to make a decision away from him. At the same time—it had been _nice_ to spend time with Wade, without the suit between them. To actually be able to feel the heat of Wade’s body, to feel the ridges of the scars without barrier.

“Peter!”

Peter snapped back to the present and whipped his head around to stare at Dr. Stacey. She pointed at his station. “Your timer’s been going off,” she said.

Peter grimaced and turned back to the station, preparing to clean another mess—but the matrix was still standing. He rubbed his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. “Dr. Stacey?” he called.

“What is it?” she asked, sounding irritated (although she usually sounded irritated these days) as she walked over.

Peter moved out of her way. “It’s still standing,” he said in awe. She stared. “How long was the timer going off?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Stacey admitted as she looked at the structure. Still standing. It didn’t seem to be any closer to dissolving as she looked at it.

“It’s still standing,” Peter said, laughter bubbling up. The two of them shared a grin, happy at the breakthrough.

Dr. Stacey cleared her throat. “It’s too early to celebrate,” she said. “Start a second sample for the next round of tests.”

Peter nodded. When he left the lab the original sample was still standing—and it had withstood the abuse of the other tests. They were so close to being able to build Harry a new heart!

Once at the Bugle he made his way to Jamison’s office in order to show the pictures he’d gotten (not very many) of the various heroes of New Amsterdam. Jamison watched him enter the office with intent eyes and Peter shrank slightly under the scrutiny. “Tell me Parker,” he said as he pulled out three pictures and laid them on the desk, “what do you think of these?”

Peter looked over the pictures. They had been taken the last time that Spiderman and Deadpool worked together. One showed the two of them on the roof, when Spiderman had been telling Deadpool to take the lead. One showed Spiderman webbing Deadpool up in a cocoon. And the third showed the broken cocoon, with Spiderman’s hand on Deadpool’s shoulder. Peter hadn’t even noticed there was someone around taking pictures.

“These are great!” he said enthusiastically. “Who took them?” Maybe that person would allow him to have copies of the pictures to put in his scrapbook.

Jamison pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kid,” he said wearily, “sometimes I really worry about you. Eddie took these.”

“He did?” Peter asked as he remembered the first photos he’d ever seen of Eddie’s. “Wow! He’s gotten a lot better.”

“Parker,” Jamison said wearily.

“I know,” Peter said mournfully. “The printer’s clogged again.” He trotted off towards the printer. One the way he saw Eddie. “Oh, Eddie!” he said happily. “I saw your pictures—”

“They are _not_ fake!” snarled Eddie as he whipped around to glare at Peter.

The Spidey-sense made his skin tingle uncomfortably as he took a step back. “What? No,” Peter said.

“I did not use _photo-shop_ ,”the other photographer said, voice dripping with venom.

“No, I—”

“Those are _real_ pictures, that I took myself!”

“I didn’t—”

“I won’t let my work be humiliated!”

“I just—”

“And you can tell Jamison that!”

Peter gave up. After he finished fixing the printer he went up to Betty and asked her if she could give him a copy of the pictures. At the look she gave him he quickly added, “For my scrapbook.” His coworker knew all about his scrapbook.

Betty sighed and rubbed her head. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I know you like Deadpool and all, but it looks like he’s having a side thing with Spiderman and I’m not sure you want that in your collection.”

Peter blinked. “Wade would never cheat on me,” he said with complete confidence.

“Hmm.” Betty looked at him. “If he ever does, let me know. This paper will do a smear campaign on his ass that will make a terrorist look like a saint and there won’t be a country in the _world_ that will let him in.”

“Um, thank you?” Peter said.

“You go do your job. Whichever job you’ve picked up so you can actually live on the pittance that JJ gives you.” Betty shooed him out the door. “I’ll get those pictures for you.”

“Thanks Betty!” Peter called on his way out. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that she was willing to run a smear campaign on Deadpool just for cheating on _Peter_. Well, it was nice that she was protective—but wasn’t it also dangerous? For her? Then again, he’d noticed that Betty seemed to have no fear. He still remembered the time she’d whacked a man wearing a bomb on the head with a rolled up newspaper as she shouted, “I said, ‘wait your turn!’ Does it _look_ like your turn yet?”

Actually, now that he thought about it, Betty might be slightly insane.

“You look lost in thought.”

Peter wasn’t even surprised at the random appearance of the winged girl. “Just a little. Stealing Wade’s suits was wrong,” he told her firmly.

“Aw,” she mock complained. “But,” she said slyly, “I bet the two of you had a nice night together.”

Peter couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face. “Yeah. We did. It was a nice race.”

Angel drew up short, staring at him. “Race?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, we had a video game night.” She groaned and smacked her head and he turned to grin at her. “Not the outcome you were expecting?” he asked mildly.

“Seriously?” she asked wearily. “He’s finally sans suit and the two of you did nothing but play video games?”

Peter turned towards her, amused. “Were you expecting something more?” He sighed. “Angel,” he said firmly, “Wade’s not ready for anything more yet. You can’t force the relationship along.”

“I know. I know!” Angel protested. She looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just—I’m running out of time here,” she said.

“What are you—?”

Peter was interrupted by two explosions—each occurring in different parts of the city. Angel looked at him. “Divide and conquer?” she suggested.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Peter told her firmly as he head in the direction of one of the blasts.

“That’s what _you_ think,” Angel muttered as she took off in the other direction.


	121. Chapter 121

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt meets with Peter's landlord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Meant to have this up yesterday, but still under the weather. It feels like every time I start to get better I relapse. It sucks.

Matt, through years of practice (mostly in front of Foggy who chimed in with helpful sentiments like, “ease up on the teeth, that grin makes it look like you’re going to rip the jury’s collective throats out if they rule against you”) maintained a polite smile as the snake of a landlord plopped arrogantly into the seat across from him. He could tell from the man’s attitude and scent that he was arrogant. Confident.

Matt was going to enjoy tearing this man down.

Foggy nudged him under the table and Matt stood up and offered a hand in not quite the right direction. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tennyson,” Matt said amiably. “Thank you for taking the time to meet up with us.”

“Well,” drawled the man lazily as his considerable bulk shifted in the creaking chair across from them, “I find that it’s always a good idea to keep an eye on my tenants. They could be up to anything, you understand.”

“Yes,” said Foggy, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I imagine you must be absolutely terrified of the Tuesday knitting circle.”

“Foggy,” Matt said, lightly scolding as he listened to the heartbeat, slowly becoming more rapid in their “guest”. “Before we truly begin, Mr. Tennyson, perhaps you would like to take a moment to engage a advocate of your own.”

Matt could hear the sneer in the man’s voice as he said, “I don’t need a lawyer.”

Good. There was nothing quite like watching someone impale _themselves_ on their doom. “Excellent. Well, Mr. Tennyson, I have been reading the leasing agreement and been speaking to your tenant and I must say that I am gravely concerned.”

The slight quickening of the man’s heart showed that the scummy excuse of a landlord was also becoming concerned. “You’ve what? Why?”

“Oh, dear,” said Matt mildly. “We didn’t tell you? I thought we told you.”

“We’ve been hired on behalf of Peter Parker,” Foggy said firmly.

“You what?!” The wood of the chair rasped against the linoleum floor as Tennyson suddenly stood up. “What lies has that little piece of shit been spewing?”

“What lies do you think he’s been telling?” Matt asked mildly, still outwardly calm as he inwardly rejoiced.

Like the true moron he was, the idiot gladly grabbed the verbal shovel Matt had thrown him and began to dig his own grave. “I have never released rats in his apartment, or stolen food from his cupboards, or purposefully clogged his toilet.”

Despite the fact that Foggy had never met Peter, Matt could feel the man trembling with barely suppressed rage at what the words implied. The sheer level of callous cruelness that was implied. _Especially_ given some of Foggy’s own nightmares about rats…

“That’s interesting,” Matt said, still keeping his voice mild and calm. “You know, not once in my conversations with Peter did he mention anything along those lines.” Indeed, all things considered the young man had probably believed that his landlord’s “pranks” were the result of simple bad luck.

Tennyson didn’t appear to be listening. “And if the little shithead has the money to hire you, well, he can pay twice what he’s paying for rent!”

“Oh, Mr. Parker didn’t hire us,” Matt said, keeping his mild tone.

“Very true. We were _hired on his behalf_ ,” Foggy said. Matt could hear the smirk in his partner’s voice.

Matt waited a suitable amount of time for the landlord’s tiny brain to process this new information before he added, “By Deadpool.”

Silence as the man’s heart rate ratcheted up to dangerous levels. “So, you see—”

Foggy didn’t get a chance to finish his statement. The glass in the windows rattled as an explosion rocked the building. “What the—”

The scum of the landlord left the room, whimpering like a small child. A hand gently pushed at Matt’s shoulder. “Go,” Foggy ordered. “Save people. Be careful.” Matt nodded, took a moment to change, and then opened the window and leaped to the street.

Tiny particles tickled the inside of his nose before all of his remaining senses began to go haywire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On another note; what's the best song to listen to at Christmas? (Doesn't actually have to BE a Christmas song; I'm just curious.)


	122. Chapter 122

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May and Norman have a talk.

Norman stared at the woman. She wasn’t threatening him (rare), she wasn’t yelling (not nearly as rare, but certainly not common), and she—appeared to be concerned? About him?

_It’s a trap_ .

Norman could only agree. But—a trap for what?  This woman didn’t need traps. She had Peter.

May leaned against Norman’s desk and calmly watched him assess her. At least—he thought she was calm. He had no idea how good, or bad, of an actress she was. “What brings you here?” Norman asked.

“I’m worried,” May responded tartly.

“Well, I’m sure Peter is—”

“I’m worried about _you_.”

Norman mentally backpedaled. How? This woman didn’t care about him, not in the slightest, and she’d made that abundantly clear the last time they’d been alone, face to face. His groin still ached slightly when he thought of that day.

“Why?” Norman blurted out.

May regarded him solemnly. “Norman,” she said softly, “can you tell me—honestly—that you’re not hearing a voice in your head?”

This was just not going the way he’d expected it to. First she’d been pleasant to him, seemed worried about him—and she knew about the voice. He looked at her as he felt his face slacken with shock at the comment.

May simply nodded. “I know you weren’t aware of this, but I had a—confrontation with your father.” She grimaced. “It was before I was established, and I had no power.”

Hard to imagine. As long as he’d known the woman she’d had power, if only the power as the sister of the woman he loved—married to the friend he’d also loved. “I never heard about that,” he said warily as he went to stand closer to her. Also closer to his security button. Just in case this was a ruse.

May rolled her eyes. “Of course not,” she said bitterly. “The man didn’t see me as either a threat or a means to control you, so of course he didn’t mention it.”

Something—odd and unpleasant rippled down Norman’s spine at the words as memories he didn’t want to revisit tried to swarm him again. “What happened?” he asked.

She looked out through the large windows at the city of New Amsterdam. The city that would, one day, belong to those Norman left behind. “I confronted him about what happened during Graduation,” she said softly. “He pointed out I had no power and got that hired goon of his to toss me out on my ass.”

_Good thing we killed him._

Yes, it was. Watching that man’s face dissolve into fear as he realized his son the weak, the malleable, the  _pawn_ had turned the game around and was calmly watching his father die had been one of the best things to happen in his life.  The absolute best, of course, being the birth.

May was watching him. He wondered how much those brown eyes of hers saw, how much she noticed about him. She’d always had the ability to look as though she could see into his soul. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer right away. “May,” he said with a sigh as he went to the bar. He grabbed the bottle of scotch to pour himself a drink—and stopped. He knew about her problems and he wasn’t going to add to them, so he grabbed a bottle of water instead. “Don’t you have to worry about Peter?”

“Peter is a grown adult in a healthy relationship, which is all I’ve ever wanted for the boy,” May said firmly.

“I’m a grown adult,” muttered Norman.

“But you’re not in a healthy relationship,” May was quick to point out.

Norman turned and leaned against the desk next to her, watching the scattered clouds drift through the sky. “ Deanna tried to kill Harry.”

“ _What_?!”

Norman waved a dismissive arm. “It’s been taken care of, but Harry—Harry was permanently injured.” He took a drink of his water and looked at the condensation beading on the outside of the plastic. “He had to have heart surgery two years ago.”

_The bitch deserved everything we did to her._

“And where is she now?” demanded May and Norman could hear the steel in her voice.

He smiled. If  _this_ May had been the one to confront his father, then perhaps—

He steered away from the thought. Thinking about what could have been didn’t do any good. “Taken care of,” he informed May. “But with that—and with Peter hanging around…” He trailed off.

“Norman,” May said, her voice soft with—some kind of emotion Norman didn’t recognize. “I—”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by an explosion in the city beneath them. Norman rushed to the windows to see familiar pink dust rising through the buildings. His blood ran cold at the sight.

_Those bastards! They set it off in the city!_

In the city. The city where Harry (who was probably safer in Stark’s Tower than he was in Oscorp) was. Where the woman pregnant with the next generation of Osborns was. Where Peter was.

“Stay here,” Norman ordered May as he ran to the hidden part of his office. He grabbed his green armor.

_We will make them_ pay.

They would. “Norman, what’s going on?”

Norman grunted. If he didn’t explain what was happening, she would follow him. “Bio weapon. Heads are going to roll,” he added as he  started to leave the office .

May would follow him. She couldn't keep from interfering; it just wasn’t in her nature. “Sorry about this, May,” he said grimly as he grabbed the woman and manhandled her into a closet, blocking it with a bar before continuing out, ignoring the screams and pounding behind him. On his way out of the building he saw Liv and gears in his head turned.

Yes, he was going to save his family.

But he might as well make a profit at the same time.


	123. Chapter 123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Wade try to deal with particles in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so has anyone ever had the misfortune of being outside when a pollen cloud rolls by? That's what I'm basing this stuff on (but not the side effects, obviously).

Despite the protection of the suit, Tony flinched at the explosion. For a moment he saw the inside of a ghastly camouflaged jeep—of the inside of the helicarrier—of the inside of his former home—

“Your blood pressure has shot up three points. For your continued health I should like to remind you of the need to calm down.” JARVIS’s voice sounded loud and clear in his ear.

“Good to hear from you Buddy,” Tony said as he looked around. “What’s the damage?”

“There appears to be a foreign substance in the form of a mist being dispensed around the Tower. I have initiated emergency lockdown procedures.”

“Good man, J,” Tony said approvingly as he looked around. There was dust in the air, which was to be expected, but the dust was pink, which was _not_. “Any idea what this stuff is?” he asked. Alarm sensors pinged and Tony threw himself to the left just in time to dodge a car that flew at him. He looked to where it had come from and saw—Daredevil?

The red clad hero seemed to be randomly attacking things, picking up cars (and wow—did _anyone_ know he was strong enough to pick up cars?) and throwing them in random directions. Suddenly the man whirled and grabbed an arrow that appeared behind him.

There was a crackle over the suit’s speakers as Clint addressed him. “Yeah, that didn’t work. Stark, what’s going on? Half the city’s going nuts.”

“Which half?” Tony doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know.

“The super half.”

***

Wade bounced down the street to his own beat and it was pretty sweet—

[Shut up!]

{Aw, ignore the party pooper! More!}

Why not? He was in a great mood! Petey-Pie had stayed the whole night, they’d actually fallen asleep together on the couch playing video games, and not once had Peter flinched away from the mess that was Wade’s face. Or gotten upset when the sleeves of Wade’s hoodie rode up and the mottled skin underneath had come into contact with Peter’s own smooth skin. For the first time in far too long, Wade felt happy. Pretty. Like he was someone special who didn’t have to hide his deformity under a mask. Wade gave an enthusiastic twirl—just as something exploded nearby. Pink dust misted through the air and Wade coughed as a cloud of it surrounded him.

“What _is_ this stuff?” he demanded of the air as people around him began coughing.

For one impossible moment, the world tilted. He breathed red, saw fuzzy, and felt savory.

The world righted itself and the sensations were gone, leaving him standing in the middle of the street among people who were coughing.

[What just happened?]

{That was AWESOME! Can we do it again?}

A breeze disturbed the dust as Angel landed next to Wade. “You all right?” she asked.

Wade looked at the pink figure as the pink dust slid across his skin (it felt both silky and gritty and he wanted to get rid of it). “You stole my suits!” he protested.

Angel rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it, Captain Cuddles,” she said pertly. She groaned. “I set you up with the perfect opportunity—perfect, mind you—and the two of you spend all night cuddling and playing video games.”

{Don’t dis the video games!}

“Aw, shut up Yellow,” Angel said as people around them coughed. “That’s not the point.” She looked around. “Is this stuff dangerous?” she asked. “I can have Dora quarantine the area, but there’s only one Dora and there was another explosion.”

“Another one?” Wade asked as he felt his stomach go hollow. No. No, it couldn't be.

“Yeah, our friendly neighborhood cuddle fiend decided to go in that direction.” Angel paused and tilted her head. “Not before yelling at me about taking your suits, by the way.”

A car flew towards them and Angel expertly blocked it with a single arm. “Whelp, that answers that question,” she muttered. She took off into the air, dust swirling around her wings.


	124. Chapter 124

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty confronts Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late getting this out. I'm working on something else at the same time.

Eddie watched as Betty calmly poured sugar into her coffee. “Look,” she said, “I know the game Jamison’s been playing with you. Making you think that Peter is your rival.

Eddie glared at the woman. He’d been wondering why she wanted to talk to him when she didn’t really talk to anyone. “He’s not?” he asked accusingly.

“No.” Betty took a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down. “He’s not because there are only three things that motivate him, and none of them are the blind ambition that motivates _you_.” Eddie shifted in surprise and she nodded. “Seriously; all that kid cares about are his family, his scrapbook, and his food.”

Eddie just glared at her. She didn’t know what she was talking about. If all Peter cared about were those three things, how did he constantly keep upstaging Eddie? After all, Eddie had to _work_ for his stories. “You don’t know that,” he growled.

To his surprise Betty just laughed. “Please,” she drawled. “He once ran across the city for me for a _doughnut_. Seriously.” She looked at him and part of Eddie quailed at the scrutiny while the other part demanded for him to suck it up and stop being scared of a frail young woman he could probably break in half. “Do you even know what he wanted to talk to you about?”

“Probably to tell my pictures were fake.” It still rankled that, instead of being thrilled at having another photographer for the masked menace Spiderman, Jamison had accused Eddie of making the pictures on his computer.

Betty made a noise like a buzzer. “Nope!” she said firmly. “Wrong answer! What he _wanted—_ which you’d know if you’d just taken a moment to _listen_ to the boy—was to know if he could have copies of the pictures you took for his scrapbook.”

Eddie stared at her, stunned. “What?” he asked. It didn’t make sense; he and Peter were _competitors_ , not _friends_. Why would Peter even think of asking something like that? What made him think it was okay?

Betty sighed. “I know,” she said grimly, “that you’ve got this whole—thing,” she said as she waived a perfectly painted hand towards him, “where you think the two of you are rivals. It’s bullshit. You’re the _only one_ who thinks the two of you are competing. _Jamison_ doesn’t think the two of you are rivals.”

“Bullshit,” growled Eddie. “He set up a competition!”

“To show you how outclassed you are,” Betty said implacably. “You know what Peter usually gets paid for around here?”

“Obviously his pictures of Spiderman.”

Betty made the buzzer noise again. “Wrong!” she said. “He gets paid for fixing the printer and maintaining the website. Peter’s the one who came up with the idea of having only some of the site public and some of it only available to paid subscribers. He’s also the one who set it up. _And_ he’s the only one who can fix the printer well enough to work for at least twelve hours and is the _only reason_ that Jamison hasn’t had to buy a new one.” She nodded. “Yeah. And then _you_ come strutting in here, demanding to _challenge_ him. It’s obscene and the only reason I can think of why Jamison’s allowed it is because he’s secretly sadistic.”

Could it really be true? He vaguely remembered Peter protesting the gang story—no. Peter hadn’t been protesting being put on the trail, he’d been protesting getting _public acknowledgment_ about it. Something about needing to protect someone.

But no. If that was the case, then how did he constantly manage to one-up Eddie? He couldn't, _wouldn't_ believe it was all accidental.

“Do you know what he told Jamison?” Betty asked. When Eddie shook his head she continued, “He said, ‘Wow, he’s gotten a lot better’.” She snorted at the look on his face. “Just give him a copy of the pictures. It’ll make his week.”

Eddie’s mind whirled. “Why?” he asked as he tried to put this new information into who he’d _thought_ Peter was.

“Because he’s dating Deadpool,” Betty said calmly.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something—when he was interrupted by the building shaking in the aftermath of a blast. Betty, New Amsterdam native, merely reached out with her free hand and kept the lamp on her desk from falling over as Eddie turned and ran into the street for his next story.


	125. Chapter 125

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a realization about the bomb across the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Sorry it's so late. Working on it.

Peter swung through the buildings, heading to the carnage of the second bomb. He stopped and landed on the side of one of the buildings as he looked over the damage, trying to see who needed help the fastest, and who was getting the official help of the rescue workers already on the scene. He was also keeping an eye out for the street kids. Were they all right? Were they safe? What in the world had happened?

The thundering sound of wings announced the new arrival. “I thought you were going to check on the other explosion,” Peter said calmly.

Angel hovered near him, just far enough away that her beating wings didn’t graze him. “I did,” she said. “There’s some kind of airborne contaminant coming from the other bomb, and I wanted to make sure this bomb didn’t have any.” He looked at her to see that her face was twisted with an emotion he didn’t quite recognize. “Not that I know what I would have done if there _was_ a contaminant here,” she said. “I only have one Dora.”

“Dora?” What did the slime have to do with anything?

“In the world she’s from, slimes are filter feeders,” Angel explained.

“That’s—brilliant,” Peter admitted.

“Only after Papa fixed it so she wouldn't explode,” Angel said calmly. “Still don’t know _what_ the dust is—I’m going to go back and help people who aren’t affected through Dora so she can eat all the dust that’s on them—but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t here too.”

Peter began to get a bad feeling. Could it be? No, no way. Why would it be released _here_? He might not _like_ Norman, might agree that the man was insane, but even insanity had its limitations. He simply wouldn't release something that could hurt an untold number of customers and potential customers. “Angel,” Peter said slowly, “what does this dust look like?”

Angel rattles off features quickly, almost as though she’d been trained in how to report a situation. “Tiny particles that attach to areas with any moisture at all. Have a smooth, almost silky texture against the skin until bunching, and then it itches. It’s light pink in color, and when I was first exposed my senses were mixed up; tasting colors, seeing sound, hearing textures; then the feeling went away and I was normal again.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if the quick recovery was my healing factor or something the dust was designed to do.”

It was the same stuff. Peter rubbed a hand over his face, spandex moving over spandex. “It’s a targeted bio-weapon,” Peter said. “I don’t—I don’t know what it’s been programmed to target.”

Angel was silent for a moment as they watched the rescue activity below them. “I see. And how, exactly, do you know this?”

Peter cringed, not that she could see it through the mask. “I—designed it,” he admitted. He waited for her to demand why, to ask what he’d been thinking, or any one of a million things.

She didn’t do any of them. “Okay,” she said calmly. “Where’s the information now? If I get it to the Tower, I bet someone will be able to whip up an antidote.”

“In Oscorp.”

“Of course it is.” Angel gently tapped him on the shoulder with her fist before soaring off.

Peter watched her go for a moment before he dropped to the ground, looking for the ones that the emergency responders just couldn’t get to yet. He dropped onto a roof next to an elderly woman pinned by some rubble, her humped back weakly moving as she tried to free herself. He quickly flipped the rubble off and held out a hand to her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Peter flinched as something was injected into his thigh and the coat was shoved back to reveal—Dr. Octavius? “Thank you for your help, Spiderman,” the woman purred as darkness swam in his vision. “Be sure that we’ll take _excellent_ care of you.”


	126. Chapter 126

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt May meets Angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, updates are stuttering a bit, but I'm trying.

May glared at the door in front of her. She didn’t know what Norman had blocked it with and she didn’t care. She was _going_ to get out of this closet.

What made him think he had any right, any right at all, to _lock her in a closet_? She was going to rip him apart and destroy him as soon as she got out. No, that was too good for him. She was going to tear him down first.

She was seething with so much anger that at first she didn’t register someone moving in the room outside. Then she attacked the door again. “Norman, you bastard!” she roared through the door. “Let me out!”

She could hear a scraping noise before she pushed the door open to come face-to-face—not with Norman, but with a teenage girl with wings. The girl smiled and gave a small wave. “So, uh, strange question—but why were you locked in a closet?”

Rage boiled up in May again. “That bastard thinks he can order me around like a _child_! I—what’s that?” May stared through the window at a large pink dome covering part of the city.

The girl jerked a thumb towards it. “Someone set off a dirty bomb,” she said in explanation, “and Dora—the dome—is preventing it from spreading. I’m here because I’ve been told the formula for the dust is here.”

May’s lips pursed together. “I,” she announced firmly, “am going to _kill_ that man!”

The girl didn’t even ask who. Or, more importantly, why. “Can you kill him later? I’ve still got to find that formula and I don’t know what kind of time constraints I’m working with.”

May took a deep breath. This girl, whomever she was, was right. A nagging thought tingled at the back of May’s brain. “Are you Angel?” she asked.

The girl gave an odd, lopsided grin. “Well, I am _here_ ,” she said. “For now.” Her wings flipped before tucking themselves back up against her back. “And that’s a story that should wait for another time. Who are you?”

“I’m May.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ Aunt May. I thought you’d be—taller,” the girl said tactfully.

“I don’t want to know what you almost said instead,” May said tartly and the girl—Angel—laughed. “Do you have any idea where the information you’re looking for might be?”

“Well,” said Angel thoughtfully, “pretty much all I know for sure is that Peter was working on it.” May’s eyes tracked towards the pink dome in the city. “I doubt he intended for it to be used like this,” Angel added quickly.

“Probably not.” May had a lot to talk to Norman about—but later. “Come on; I know where his labs are.” As she ran towards the labs she couldn't help but notice that the girl, despite having wings, easily kept up with her. And that her cheekbones were far too prominent. “Angel, when’s the last time you ate?”

“People keep harping on that,” muttered Angel. “I just haven’t had time.”

May snorted. “That’s what Peter says. Norman keeps copies of every research project done by his company in his lab.”

Angel looked around the room. “Not his office?” she asked.

May rolled her eyes. “This? This is for show, and intimidation. But, Norman is a scientist, first and foremost.” There was a reason he and Richard had always gotten along. “Come on; I know where the lab is.” They strolled down the hall.

One of the nice things about visiting Oscorp was that there was no uniform, so two people who weren’t in uniform didn’t stand out (even if one of them had wings). As long as they _looked_ like they knew what they were doing, no one would question them. And May certainly knew where she was going; she’d never stopped keeping tabs on Norman.

Of course, she’d _also_ never gotten around to getting a copy of Norman’s key card to open the lab. She turned to see if she could flag someone down—only to stop at the sound of a beep as the door opened. Looking back she saw that Angel was calmly standing in the open door. “How did you do that?” she asked.

Angel smiled. “First lock I learned how to pick,” she said fondly. She traced the outside of the lock with a finger. “I managed to save them. Not all of them, but I did my best. And now that we’re here—can he even _use_ half of this stuff without tripping a breaker?”

May walked in to see the crowded lab. “No,” she said as she looked over the equipment. “And he’s never been one to shy away from showing power. Let’s find that formula for you.”


	127. Chapter 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to restrain an out of control Daredevil and gets help.

Tony grabbed yet another car that was launched his way. He didn’t want to go all out against the Devil, but he was quickly running out of options. The man was insane in his rampage.

Clint dropped beside him. “I’m running out of arrows,” he said worriedly. “This guy can dodge almost as well as Spiderman.”

Spiderman. Christ, Tony hoped _he_ wasn’t affected by this—whatever it was. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure the low level vigilante was stronger than the Devil. If _he_ was affected…

The dust in the air swirled as the teenager with wings dropped behind Daredevil, gripped him with one hand, and took the car he was currently holding out of his grip with the other. Then she tried to delicately set the car to the side without further damage—which would have worked if the bumper hadn’t separated from the car letting the whole thing fall (crash) to the ground. The girl looked at the fallen car for a moment, shrugged, and then tossed the bumper towards it before bringing her now free hand to the devil’s back and doing—something.

Tony stared as the red-clad vigilante suddenly turned boneless and unresponsive and she carefully and gently moved him to a place out of the way—picking up a grown man who looked to be easily twice her weight (minus the wings).

Maybe Tony should have done a little more research on this child when SHIELD asked him to. He eyed her warily was she walked up to him, not sure if she was suffering from the—whatever it was in the air. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“No,” she said with blunt, brutal honesty that made Clint smother a laugh from beside him. She reached behind her and Tony stared at the golden geometric circle that appeared.

He’d seen that a couple of times before. _Never_ from someone as young as this, as clearly non-monk as this. Where had she learned this technique? And, hello, he was calling some supreme bullshit on Strange’s unwillingness to teach him if this little waif had the ability.

The girl withdrew her hand to reveal—a flash drive? She held it out for Tony to take. “I got the original blueprints for this stuff,” she said waving her hand and making circles in the dust in the air.

“And where, pray tell, did you get them?” asked Tony.

Her wings flipped stirring up the dust even more. “Not important,” she said firmly. “I—”

She was interrupted by a scream and Tony’s heart seized as he saw the source. A woman, covered in dancing flames, was approaching a small child that was screaming in terror, tears tracking twin pink streaks down the face. Before Tony had a chance to react she rushed forward, did the same thing to the fire woman that she’d done to Daredevil, and then went to the kid.

Tony walked towards them and was close enough to hear her say, “I’m getting people who aren’t going crazy from this stuff in the air out, okay? Will you come with me?”

The kid looked up and flinched at the sight of Tony. “What about him?” the child asked, pressing close to the girl.

“Him?” The girl looked up and _winked_ at Tony. “That’s Iron Man,” she said gently. “He’s a hero and he’s going to try to make it all better.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” said the girl.

Tony’s suit beeped with an incoming call and JARVIS, without prompting, answered. “Tony!” Rhodes called.

“Rhodey! What’s up, my man?”

“Tell that girl the evacuation points have changed. The streets were getting clogged!”

“Ask him where.” The girl was suddenly standing in front of him.

Tony repeated the question. “Harbor and Maine,” Rhodes said.

“Got it.”

Tony stared after her for a moment. She could hear the suit. _She could hear inside the suit_.

“Well, that’s great and all, but what are we going to do with the people being incapacitated?” asked Clint.

Tony turned his attention to the drive he was carrying. “We’re going to get them help,” he said grimly.

“Not the face!” cried a voice they were both (unfortunately) familiar with.

“What now?” demanded Tony as he turned to face Deadpool. Sure, Peter liked the man—but that didn’t mean that Tony had to. “Deadpool, what are you doing?” he demanded.

“What’s it—ow—look like, Tin Can?” Deadpool ducked as a woman repeatedly beat him with her purse. “Man. What is it about these people?” he asked as he ducked around her and skipped to Tony. “So, Iron Douche, did you miss me?”

Before Tony could respond the girl was there. “The evacuation points are getting overloaded again,” she said grimly. She sped off through the dust once again.

“Man she’s a fast little one,” said Deadpool with admiration. “Gotta hand it to her genetics.”

She appeared again and gave him a gentle smack before turning to Tony. “Any luck on that cure yet?” she asked.

“How would he do that if we haven’t moved?” Clint demanded.

She snorted. “Are you telling me that super high tech suit he’s wearing can’t download information and upload it onto a secure server?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she met Clint’s gaze.

“You’re not wrong,” Tony said. “But, I’m going to need a little bit of help from you.”

She looked him over for a moment, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly to the side. “All right,” she said firmly, “but it’ll cost you.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa!” said Deadpool, of all people, making a giant “T” with his arms. He turned to the winged girl. “Isn’t that inedible?” he asked.

“Unethical,” she corrected smoothly. “And I thought so too, but Spiderman said it was okay.”

Spiderman did?

“And it’s not like I’m charging random civilians caught in this mess,” she continued. “Or charging to restrain the violent ones. Or—just a moment.” She flew off and returned no less than a moment later. “Or,” she continued, “asking anyone who can’t afford to pay.”

Deadpool appeared to think that over. “Okay then,” he agreed.

Tony heaved a sigh, inwardly pleased at the girl’s backbone. After all, she’d stood her ground with _Deadpool_. “What do you want as payment?” he asked.

“Six cases of water and fifteen of protein bars,” she responded.

“Done,” agreed Tony. He produced a communicator from his suit and handed it to her. She delicately took it and threaded it around her ear like a pro. Like she’d done this before. Tony would look into her later. “This will keep us connected while we work on a cure. You’re fast enough that I want you on standby to deliver it to every compromised person.”

She gave a salute. “Tell me when you need me,” she said as she took off again, words echoing through both the suit and the air.


	128. Chapter 128

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is in bad hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, kind of short. Please forgive me; my ability to write stuttered for a bit after the 12 Days of Christmas. And there might be tears involved in this chapter.

Peter’s vision fluttered in and out. All he could do was focus on breathing and trying to get his eyes opened. Neither was going very well. What had happened? He couldn't tell.

“How long is he going to be out?” The voice seared through his head, but he didn’t have the power to wince.

There was a sigh. Gentler, but still horrible. “The sedative is reacting poorly with the contaminant in his blood.”

“Can you get the contaminant out?”

“Since the contaminant is the only think keeping him _alive_ at this point, no. No I can not.”

A moment of blessed, blessed silence.

“What about the Memcorder?”

“It should work just fine, whether he’s conscious or not, but there’s going to be issues if you use it on _that_.”

“Do it.”

“All right.”

There was a whirring and the pressure in Peter’s head increased. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t crying with the pain. Maybe there was nothing left _to_ cry.

“It’s such a pity,” the slightly more bearable voice said. “I do hope this doesn’t kill you. I _am_ fond of your brain.”

Peter thought about the ultimatum. About Osborn, and how he’d hurt the Avengers. Of the street children who had needed his help and guidance so badly. About Harry—poor Harry. At least the foundation was there; he’d have a new heart soon. He had every confidence in Dr. Stacey’s ability to finish the matrix soon enough to create the heart.

The street children no longer needed his guidance. He felt certain that, between Angel and Professor Xavier, they would be able to not only survive, but thrive. Their leader had a good head on its shoulders, and was more than capable of keeping the others safe no matter what happened. And the X-Men would back the child up; they looked after mutants after all.

Aunt May would be sad if he died. He had no doubt that she loved and while she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he wanted to be able to watch after her. At least Tony seemed to like him. Maybe he’d keep an eye on his aunt. Of course, he might not want to. Even Peter knew about the incident where she broke his arm.

Angel. The girl was an enigmatic mystery. Peter wasn’t certain how much of her story he believed, but the fact was she was powerful, ethical to a fault (and starving herself), and protective. She also said she wouldn't be around much longer. Peter didn’t know what she thought was going to happen soon, but he doubted it was her death. And he was slightly worried about the “army under the streets” she said was building, but was accepting her judgment about it. For now.

Truth was, being Spiderman lately had become more of a chore than release. A job. That he got about the same amount of respect for that he did back when he was a lowly lab assistant in the general lab and the Bugle. Although, come to think of it, he still was a lab assistant, just at a higher level.

Of course, if he’d never put on the mask he never would have met Deadpool. Wade. He still remembered that first meeting with vivid clarity: seeing the man, full suit with weapons, hunched over, muttering to himself as he drew on the ground with a stick. How, despite his fragile, shattered mind, all he’d wanted was to protect children, children he hadn’t even been certain were real. Peter was almost certain that was when he’d first started to fall for the merc.

The road to a relationship had its bumps. Not the least of which was when Deadpool had kidnapped Spiderman for a gaming buddy, certain that the web-slinging vigilante hated him. Just hearing that had broken Peter’s heart, just a little bit. And true, Deadpool had a problem with killing people—okay, the problem was he had _no_ problem killing people. But he had honor. And he was kind.

Peter still remembered the look on Wade’s face that day when he’d seen the man’s scarred face in full for the first time. The fear of rejection. The tremulous hope. The disbelief that Peter wasn’t scared, wasn’t repulsed. Wade, his Wade.

Wade…


	129. Chapter 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle plan is made to combat the contaminant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny, tiny hint more of Angel in this chapter. Enjoy.
> 
> And, just as a reminder, some time ago HeatherErica45 made me some truly amazing fanart. Found here (since I still can't get it to come up in the chapter):
> 
> https://heatherica45.tumblr.com/post/186176204682/this-is-angel-an-oc-in-a-fic-that-im-following

Gwen sighed as she rubbed her eyes under her glasses. Close. She was so, so close. Almost there! The matrix was holding shape. The paths the nanobots formed held steady. All she had to do was get the thing to beat, and she’d have a working heart.

A working heart. With no blood type, no blood triggers, acceptable to _anyone_ who needed a heart. If this worked, if she could get this to work, it would revolutionize the medical industry. It wouldn't matter if someone had a rare blood type or was too old for the regular donor lists—they could _still_ get a heart. If she could do this right, it could be mass produced. For the public. For other countries. They’d revolutionize the _world_!

“Dr. Stacey?” Gwen turned to see Pepper again. Before Gwen could talk the woman said, “Tony needs your help with an emergency, please follow me.” Gwen rushed over, not even taking the time to leave her lab coat on the stand by the door of the lab.

There was only one thing the word “emergency” meant in the Tower. Danger. Threats of death. Possibly even severe death.

Maybe those bitch former roommates of hers were caught in it and dying slow, painful deaths.

Gwen shook the thought from her mind. She would have to put all her focus on Tony’s emergency. Lives were in the balance.

Pepper led her to the electronic room, with a holographic display of data that she quickly began reading. She stopped. Reread specific data points. “No,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Tony’s voice came over the system as the door opened and the Iron Man suit walked into the room, shedding a little with every step until only Tony stood in the floor. “We’ve got to figure out the trigger and engineer a cure before these people die.”

“Any idea what the trigger is?” Gwen asked as she stared at the data. The way it was built, the trigger could be anything. Height. Weight, Eye color.

Tony frowned. “I thought it was for the powered half,” he said.

“Keep that thought,” a voice over the system said. “Oh, pardon me. Hey, I’m helping people evacuate. Want to come with me.”

“Yes,” a tiny, tinny voice said over the system.

“All right then.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you and Deadpool are obviously powered and the two of you seem to be fine,” Tony drawled dryly, looking annoyed. Gwen glanced at him. She wasn’t sure who was speaking, but the person seemed to know what they were talking about.

“And Deadpool and I also have super powered _healing factors_ that are more than capable of ridding us of a substance with no more than a blip on our parts,” the voice continued calmly. “Whoa! How many fire people are in New York?”

Gwen frowned and looked at Tony. “You’re in New Amsterdam,” Tony said firmly.

“That’s what I said.” Static ran through the line. Odd. Stark’s technology didn’t normally _have_ static. Gwen got to work. Assuming what the person said was true, the substance was targeting the mutagenic gene. Then what was needed was _not_ a counteractive, but a _replacement_. “Say, is there something that can be used to start filtering this shit out of the air? Dora’s having trouble.”

Tony reached over to another display and began working. “How much longer can she hold on?”

“Depends. Whoops. Gotcha! Is there someplace I can take the unaffected, other than evacuating them? I think the strain of filtering this stuff off them is making the situation worse, but if she doesn’t have to she can hold for another two, maybe three hours.”

Whirring alerted Gwen to the fact that several drones, presumably modified to cleanse the air, had been dispatched. “Dora’s filtering stuff off _humans_?”

A pause. “Okay,” said the voice over the system. “I know this isn’t your area of expertise, but when you have a quarantine zone—”

“I know how a quarantine works,” said Tony irritably as Gwen smothered laughter. “What do you need in a building?”

“Brick? Because while you’ve got plant people, invisible people, and—excuse you? Did you really think that _this_ was the best time to get milk? Oh, you want the whole store? Let me help you. No, to the _police_ you _idiot_. Honestly.”

Despite the severity of the situation Gwen couldn't help grinning as Tony sighed. She could like this person. “Got it,” she said with satisfaction.

“Good.” Gwen squeaked and whirled to see a teenager wearing a bright pink leotard, hair back in a half braid, and shoes without socks. She stared in horror at the shoes for a moment. Even the poorest of street kids had socks; she’d seen it. The girl crossed her arms over her chest and the wings that Gwen hadn’t noticed before that point fanned out in irritation. “Well?” she demanded.

“Here.” Tony tossed her a canister. “You’ll need to make several trips.”

She nodded. “Don’t forget my payment,” she warned before disappearing.

“Payment?” demanded Pepper.

Gwen had honestly forgotten that the woman was there. For a moment, she felt guilty. Then she pushed the feeling aside and got back to work making sure the machines in the lab were producing as much of the neutralizing substance as possible.

“Yes,” said Tony, voice grim. “For this service of delivering the cure to people individually, and faster than any of my drones could, she’s charging me.”

“And what,” demanded Pepper with cold fury in her voice, “is she charging?”

“Six cases of water and fifteen cases of protein bars,” said Tony.

Gwen frowned and paused turning to look at them. She caught the startled glance of Pepper as well before the woman’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Gwen turned back to the work. The girl was charging food and water? That was—odd.

“Got more for me?” asked the girl in question.

Gwen appraised her thoughtfully as Tony grabbed another completed canister and tossed it at her as she tossed back the original empty one. Gwen blinked in surprise, having expected her to throw the old canister. “How fast are you?” asked Gwen curiously.

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Faster than a bullet, slower than light.” She shrugged again. “I’ve gotten faster since the last time it was measured, and I don’t like being observed. Why?”

Gwen tossed her the finished canister that she’d been working on. “I wanted to know if you could handle two at once.”

The girl grinned. “Let’s find out,” she said with disturbing perkiness. She disappeared again.

“That girl makes me feel old,” complained Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everybody! Woo!


	130. Chapter 130

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman makes a decision.

Norman stood in the lab, staring at his reflection in the shiny metal cabinets. His hair was mussed by the helmet he had been wearing. The light reflecting off the hideous green armor gave his skin a greenish tinge. All of it was preferable to looking at his own trapped eyes.

_We can kill the agent. With all the chaos they’d never know._

Except they would, somehow. He wouldn't put it past them to have some kind of a neural link so that they could spy on their agents and know exactly what they were doing. Better to act with the assumption that was what they had done, and that they would know what he did.

His eyes traveled the green and gold armor for a moment. He’d chosen the colors specifically to make himself to stand out, to command attention. The attention of the human spider that roamed the streets.

He’d never expected the vigilante to be Peter. Looking back on it now, it made sense. He’d be willing to bet that he knew exactly when the boy became Spiderman—right after those horrible interns locked him in the spider testing room and he suffered all those bites. Norman still remembered the pale form on the hospital bed, only saved from the struggle of breathing by a machine that did it for him. How high that fever had gotten. How close Peter had come to dying. A miracle, really, that he’d survived.

Norman looked at the half-filled vial of blood in his hands. He’d been contracted to get a blood sample of the hero—but he couldn't just turn over _Peter’s_ blood.

_Kill the agent. Even if they know, they can do_ nothing.

Except they could. While they didn’t have any shares in his company themselves, they were more than able destroy it. He knew that. He couldn't allow the company to be destroyed. It was the only legacy had to leave his family.

Norman pressed a button and the reflective surface slowly sank into the floor revealing rows upon rows of blood vials, just like the one he was holding. He had one from every individual who worked in this building. And, since he’d tried to get Deadpool, he also had one more vial. He grabbed the vial that they’d taken from the mutant and, before he could think twice about it, poured Deadpool’s blood into the vial with Peter’s.

Let them get their hands on it. It was too contaminated now for them to do anything with it. He closed the cabinet, tossed the empty vial, and then took the now full one to the agent.

The balding man was staring out at the city from the windows in the office. A glance showed him the closet he’d shoved May into was empty; good. She didn’t need to be here for this. She didn’t need to know. _Peter_ didn’t need to know.

“They’re doing a remarkably quick job at cleaning up that stuff you sold us,” commented the man calmly.

Norman wasn’t fooled by the tone. “Tony Stark,” he said with a growl, “is many things, but even I admit he’s a genius. If you’re going to release it in his city, then be prepared for obstruction.” Norman crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the man. “Why _was_ it released in this city?” he demanded.

The man shrugged, his amiable smile not withering the slightest bit. “Above my paygrade, I’m afraid,” he said cheerfully. “What have you got for me?”

Norman allowed the change in subject. He knew he had no other choice. Worse, the man knew it as well. “I completed a task you gave me some time ago.” He passed the vial of blood over towards the man.

The man’s face split into a wide grin. “Spiderman’s blood,” he said with a savage satisfaction that would have startled anyone.

Well, anyone other than Norman who knew better. “It is,” he said.

“Do you have Spiderman?” asked the man. His tone was carefully calculated to sound casually interested.

Norman knew, because he’d used the same tone himself. Norman smiled. “That’s really none of your business,” he chided amiably. “Our transaction is merely the blood sample.”

“True.” The man slipped the vial into his pocket and began to head out of the office. “By the way, how’s your son? I hear he had to be put into a medical coma.”

_Kill him! Kill him now!_

Norman throttled the impulse down. He couldn't kill this man and he knew it. He knew it well. “As well as can be,” Norman said calmly as the man nodded and left.

In that one moment he had never been more grateful to May.


	131. Chapter 131

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and the team learn a little more about Angel.

The air was almost clear, and the bots were easily filtering it out. He’d even equipped each bot with a mini incinerator that could destroy the stuff as they went, so  they wouldn't have to worry about disposing the stuff later. And  the girl was being remarkably helpful in delivering their antidote to the affected while moving the unaffected out of the way as much as possible.

Normally Tony wouldn't have an issue with the girl, but the fact that she’d demanded payment struck him wrong.  Besides, there was something about her that put his teeth on edge. He didn’t know what it was though.

The girl appeared again and tossed Tony the empty cartridges. “Got ‘em all,” she said with satisfaction.

“Good,” Tony swiped a few things to order her “payment.”

“Are you sure?” asked Dr. Stacey.

Tony hadn’t wanted to work with Dr. Stacey, but Pepper had (rightfully) pointed out  that the last thing they needed was to risk Bruce to the contaminant.  The stuff had superpowered and enraged  _Daredevil_ ; they didn’t need to know what it would do the Hulk. And Dr. Stacey wasn’t that bad to work with; he could see working with her again in the future. Speaking of that, didn’t Pepper say that Dr. Stacey had moved into the Tower?

“I’m sure,” the girl said confidently. She turned to Tony. “What do you want to me do with the costumed guy? I’m not sure where he lives and while he’s safe where is for now, that won’t be the case for too much longer.”

“Bring him here,” Tony said with a shrug. In the grand scheme of things, one vigilante wasn’t that important as long as he wasn’t breaking things. “He can figure out where to go after he wakes up.”

“Kay.” She leaves.

He turns to Dr. Stacey. “Good work,” he said.

“Yes!” she said with a grin. “And now I think I know how to make it beat!” She turned and practically skipped down the hall as she left.

Tony watched her go, amused.

“So, where do you want him?” He turned again to see that the girl had Daredevil slung over shoulder, neatly settled between her two wings—and clearly dwarfing her. He wondered just how strong she was.

“Just tuck him up against the wall. He’ll be pissed if he wakes up on something soft.”

“Weird.” The girl follows his orders and he turned back to check on the progress of the drones sucking up the contaminant.

“The drones should be done sweeping up the last of that dust in roughly half an hour.”

“Kay. Dora should be able to hold that long.” As Tony was going through his date he heard her say, “Well, _that’s_ not good.” He turned to see her swaying on her feet, blinking rapidly. Her face was absurdly pale her eyes were so shadowed they looked bruised—which they hadn’t earlier.

Odd. She looked like he did when he was about to—

She collapsed to the floor, one wing crumpled under body while the other sprawled haphazardly. “Sir,” JARVIS said softly into his com, “her body temperature appears to be dropping.”

“What happened?” demanded Pepper as she ran into the room. “What did you do?” She paused, taking in the unconscious teenager on the floor before turning to him with a frown. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” protested Tony as he pointed at her. “She just—fell over!”

Pepper spared him a look before turning to the girl again. She leaned out of the room and called, “Clint! Natasha! In here!”

A vent dropped to the floor quickly followed by Clint. Tony had given up asking how he got into the vents as he did. “What’s up?”

“Unconscious child,” Pepper said pointing. “We need to get her somewhere soft.”

“And a blanket,” added Tony. When the two of them looked at him he added, “The floor is probably draining the heat from her body.” Pepper glared at him for a moment, but nodded. She was respecting his decision to keep JARVIS secret from both Clint and Natasha.

It wasn’t that Tony didn’t trust them. Now that they knew about Project 23, they were as loyal to the cause as Steve and Bucky were. That didn’t change the fact that they used to work for SHIELD and he didn’t know if they would see the need to barter the information further down the line. Tony might not hold SHIELD in high regard, but he was well aware that they weren’t idiots. It wouldn't take much for them to add “Stark has highly powered, networked AI” and “breaches in cyber security” and get the right answer. Better not to risk it.

Natasha appeared behind Pepper almost as quickly as the girl could appear and took in the situation with a raised eyebrow. “Intruder?” she asked with a nod towards the girl.

“Guest,” said Clint. He tucked the sprawled wing around the girl and grabbed the bottoms of her wings and feet. Natasha grabbed the shoulders and head before the two of them picked her up. “She’s heavy,” grunted Clint as they carried her out of the lab, Tony and Pepper following.

Natasha, not working nearly as hard, frowned as they laid the girl out on the couch. “ She’s really not.”

“Were you helping carry her? She weighs a _ton_.”

“Her wings are two-thirds her body weight.” Natasha’s lips thinned as she looked at the child. “She should weigh more.”

“Should she?” asked Clint looking at her.

Tony had to admit that Natasha was right. Looking at the girl’s face in the bright light of the room he saw that it looked painfully thin. He also felt a stab of guilt about being upset that she was charging. Maybe she desperately needed the food, and that was why Spiderman had told her it was okay to charge for certain things.

“She should,” agreed Natasha. “We should contact her parents.”

Pepper made a disparaging noise and they all turned to look at her. “Are you lot insane?” she demanded.  She gave a snort. “No, you’re just the most stupid smart people I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. Look at her!” She gestured to the girl. “She asked for payment in  _food_ and  _water_ . She’s clearly homeless!”

“No,” said Clint, looking disturbed.

The girl sneezed, rolled over onto her stomach, tucked one wing up against the free side while carelessly hanging her other wing over the side of the couch. The small bag on her back, tucked between the two wings, shifted with her and its contents, a few sketchbooks and a box of colored pencils, slid out. Tony sighed and grabbed one of the sketchbooks. “Well, she should have something to talk with Cap about,” he said wearily as he opened it.

“Tony!”

“What? She’s not awake to…” His voice trailed off and his throat dried as he looked at the pictures. As he flipped through the book. No. No, it wasn’t possible.

Was it?


	132. Chapter 132

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check in with Norman's contacts and Adriana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on getting back into my old writing groove.

“Is this really Spiderman’s blood?” The one-eyed man looked at the vial warily as the techs were already plugging it into the system to pull the essential components out.

“Norman doesn’t have a history of lying to us,” his associate said mildly.

The one-eyed man’s face pulled into a frown. “True,” he admitted. “But there’s a first time for everything. Is that mutagenic blood?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the techs said.

“Good.” The one-eyed man smiled. The smile dropped. “How’s the subject?” he asked.

“Still fighting. It would seem as though she hasn’t reconciled herself to motherhood.”

The one-eyed man snorted. “It doesn’t matter if she ‘reconciles herself’ to it,” he said. “She’s what, thirty weeks?”

“Forty,” one of the techs corrected with a frown. “We don’t know why the baby isn’t dropping.”

Another tech snorted. “At least it means the baby isn’t too old yet,” the second tech said.

“See? It all works out.”

“I don’t know sir,” the associate said mildly. “We thought it would work out for Project 23 and it didn’t.”

“This isn’t Project 23. And _this_ one won’t be found.”

The associate said nothing. He didn’t believe his boss was right, but there was nothing he could do. And he did, somewhat feel sorry for the woman. It didn’t matter to his boss that she’d never wanted the baby.

He knew that it did matter. Children who were born wanted were stronger that children that weren’t, and they both wanted the project to succeed. He just thought his boss was going about it the wrong way.

***

Adriana smiled as she tied off the braid. Her other self looked _much_ better than she had when Adriana busted her out of the Hell. The young girl’s yellow eyes were watching the creatures around them. “They’re so pretty,” the young girl sighed.

Adriana fondly stroked the smooth braid. “They are,” she agreed. They were the most beautiful things that she’d ever seen. The first one she’d turned had been an accident, but what a beautiful accident he had been.

The young girl fearlessly reached out and stroked the smooth outer shell of a leg. “Will I be able to do this too?” she asked looking up in wonder as the creature moved its mandibles.

“You will,” said Adriana warmly. “You might even be able to now. I’ll see if I can find someone for you to practice on.”

The young girl nods, but doesn’t stop stroking the leg, feeling the ridges of the hard exoskeleton of the marvelous creature she was touching. Adriana understood. She’d been like that herself, after all. “How?” the girl asked looking back at her, yellow eyes wide and curious. “How did you do all of this?”

“Power,” Adriana replied with a smile. “I got insane amounts of power.” Adriana stood and walked over to the small child before crouching down to be on eye level. She knew that the child had faced many adults who had insisted on standing over her, demanding she believe what they want her to believe, to act the way they wanted her to. Adriana would not fall in their footsteps. “I learned that there was a great power source hidden through all the worlds of the universe, and I decided to take as much of it for myself as I could.”

The young girl nodded and turned to face Adriana. “Will you stay here forever?” she asked.

“Oh, sweetie,” said Adriana as she hugged the child. “I can’t. There isn’t room for two of us in this world for too long, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh.” The girl clearly didn’t know how to react to someone thinking about her best interests for once. Adriana wanted to kill those people at the facility all over again—but they were past her judgment. For now. If she got one more soul she might be able to. “Will you—be able to stay? At least for a little while?”

“Yes,” said Adriana with a smile. “And look,” she said turning to show one of her lovely creatures hauling a struggling human towards them. “Your first prey.”

The young girl stepped forward and looked at the clearly terrified human. “How do I do it?” she asked.

Adriana ignored the human’s frightened whimpers. “Rub your tongue along the two fangs on either side of your mouth. Can you taste the fluid they’re producing?”

“Kind of—salty. And tart at the same time.”

“Yes. Now bite him and make sure that fluid goes into his body.” Adriana watched with pride as the younger version of herself stalked towards the struggling human. “Don’t worry if you don’t quite get it this time. You can always try again later.” The young girl opened her mouth and sank her fangs deep into the human’s neck.

Good.


	133. Chapter 133

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Daredevil wake up and everyone has dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a slow chapter, but it's important for later.

Tony flipped through the book. He could see it. He could feel it. But—he couldn't believe the contents. They were insane.

The sketches. The first one was a crude child’s drawing of what looked like a violent murder. The next ones got progressively better in style and substance.  Pictures of what looked like an older Peter. Pictures of a scarred man. Pictures of Deadpool. Pictures of the children that they’d rescued.

It was the last that threw him for a loop. Pictures of the children? How? And when he’d seen the pictures himself, Clint had said that she’d seemed eerily familiar with the facility.

Who was this girl? Why did she have these drawings? No, Tony had to face the facts. She had these _because she drew them_. How? They _just_ rescued the children!

“Does she show any sign of waking up?” asked a soft voice. Tony reached up blindly and Pepper slid a hand into his. She knew what he needed. She always did.

“Not yet,” Tony said grimly as he watched the girl. From the odd position that she’d contorted herself into he couldn't see her chest rise and fall with her breaths—but she wasn’t losing body heat anymore either. It was almost as though she was using her wings as insulation. He didn’t know if that was absurd—or if that was what was happening with her.

“Why am I here?”

And suddenly he was sharing space with Daredevil. Pepper gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it and walking away. “You probably don’t remember this,” Tony said, hoping he was right, “but you were incapacitated. First, by the stuff in the air that made your powers go out of control. Then by that girl.”

Tony looked up at him to see the man’s nostrils flare. “Angel,” Daredevil said softly.

Tony felt like he _should_ be surprised that the two of them knew each other. Then again, his ability to be surprised might have been short-circuited by the sketchbooks. He’d gone through all of them by this point. Some of them were almost normal, almost expected—but some of them were strange. Peter as a mermaid? The scarred man that frequented her pages holding a spider as big as his torso and smiling sweetly? The entire team with wings? He wasn’t sure what was going on.

“So,” Tony said as lightly as he could, “you’ve met.”

“Deadpool summons her with food.”

Of course he did. Deadpool probably already knew that she was homeless and, being the insane and unstable personality that he was, decided the best thing to do was feed the stray bird. Tony wearily rubbed his face. “We think she has nowhere to go. I’m thinking of offering her a room—”

Daredevil snorted. “She’ll never take you up on that.”

Tony frowned. The man did seem to know her better than Tony had, but at the same time it rankled. Just what was wrong with accepting help from him? “Why do you say that?”

Daredevil simply walked over to the girl and gently poked a wing with a gloved finger. “There’s something brewing under the city that she’s keeping an eye on. It’s the whole reason she’s here, and she won’t be able to do it from your ivory tower.”

“It’s not ivory,” grumbled Tony. The girl sneezed and her wing snapped out just enough to knock Daredevil off balance before tucking itself back into place. The rest of her didn’t even twitch.

“She’s exhausted.”

“She’s also starving.”

“She’s also awake.” The head turned towards the two men and Tony most definitely did not scream. Yelp, maybe. Manly yelp. She groaned and buried her head back into the cushion. “It’s too early,” she complained.

Tony raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s seven at night,” he told her.

“But I’ve only been sleeping for three hours,” she complained.

Her sense of time was bizarrely accurate. “True,” Tony said mildly. “But look at it this way.” When her head turned towards him again he added, “If you don’t get up soon, you don’t get dinner.” On cue her stomach rumbled.

“Well,” she said pushing herself to a sitting position, “if you put it that way—why does my back feel light?” She looked puzzled. She also looked half asleep.

“Your sketchbooks fell out.” He waited to see what her reaction was.

She yawned. “Yeah?” she asked.

“You sketch?” Tony didn’t have to turn to see Steve.

Another yawn. “Yeah,” she said. Her eyes blinked owlishly, the amber color looking oddly hazy in the middle of bizarrely clear whites. Or maybe not so bizarre: she had said that she had an excellent healing factor.

“I sketch too,” Steve said.

No. No, Steve was _not_ reaching out to this waif! They had more than enough problems without Mr. Heart-Too-Big getting invested!

Before Tony could say anything the girl gave a sleepy smile. “Yeah? You figure out movement yet? It’s still kicking me.” She yawned again and her wings suddenly stretched out as she arched her back like a cat, arms stretched over her head. “Hmm—yeah!” She pulled something from her ear. “Here you go,” she said holding out the com.

Tony looked at it. “You can keep it,” he said.

She grinned. “You mean so you can track it and know where I am at all times? No, thank you.” She set the com down on the table next to the couch.

Tony blurted out the question he’d been thinking of. “Are you from the future?”

She grimaced. “Ew. No, time travel requires a special brand of insanity that I don’t have.”

Pepper came back into the room. “Well?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Are we eating?” The group followed her to the kitchen that was packed with an insane amount of food. “Help yourselves,” she ordered. “I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, so I got some of everything.”

Tony wasn’t surprised the first thing the girl tackled was the pizza. That seemed to be a favorite among young people. Of course, she didn’t shy away from any other food either, and Tony wasn’t certain that was because she was starving. He’d noticed that a lot of those with enhanced appetites weren’t picky about their food. And she certainly ate an insane amount.

Finally he couldn't hold it anymore. “Why protein bars?”

She swallowed her mouthful before answering. “They keep, don’t require a lot of prep, and are usually artificially pumped with nutrients.” She shrugged. “Most of them taste like shoe leather, but they do their job.”

There was something bleak in the shockingly casual way she said that. “So,” Tony pressed, changing the subject, “if you’re not from the future, where are you from?”

“You familiar with Stephen Hawking’s last paper?”

“No.”

Her lips twitched in a smile as Natasha (to Tony’s surprise) dumped some more food on her plate. “Thank you,” the girl said politely before turning back to Tony. “Long story short: there are multiple dimensions, I’m from one of them, and so is the person brewing up trouble under the city that I’m going to do my best to stop before that person skips out again.” She dug into the new food. “Oh, this is amazing! What is it?”

“Beef stroganoff,” Natasha replied. “It’s good for you, and filling.”

“It’s _amazing_!” The girl practically inhaled the food.

“Where’d you even find a place that sells it?” asked Tony curiously. She simply smiled without answering. He turned back to the girl. “Why are you the one going after the person under the city?”

She finished chewing her mouthful and swallowed before answering. “Because I have a massively good healing factor,” she said, “and the—circumstances—around me being, well, me, are unique.”

“More unique than being the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation that focuses on technological advances while still being one of the leading heroes of the world?” asked Tony in a drawl.

“Surprisingly, yes.”


	134. Chapter 134

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking in with Peter.

Peter finally managed to force his eyes open. He didn’t know how long it had taken. How long had he been trapped there, trying to get control of his own body?

“I see you’re awake.”

Another monumental effort and Peter managed to turn his head to see—Dr. Octavius. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. “Doctor,” he rasped. His throat was dry and he began to cough.

“Hold on,” Dr. Octavius said gently. She brought a glass of water with a straw in it to his lips. “Drink slowly. There’s only so much the IV can do.”

IV? Peter tried to turn his head again while drinking and couldn't. It was like his body was protesting the idea of not drinking the water. He didn’t think he was drinking quickly, but all too soon she was pulling the empty glass away. “I’ll ring up for more water,” Dr. Octavius said. “So, Peter, how do you feel?”

“Head hurts,” rasped Peter. A quick mental assessment and he added, “Arm hurts.” He glanced around without moving his head. He was in a lab of some kind—but it wasn’t one he was familiar with. Where was he?

“That would be the IV.” She pushed her huge glasses back in place as she spoke. “You had a reaction of some kind to the first needle; we’re not sure why. It looks like your body tried to assimilate it, which is fascinating—but not conducive to keeping you alive.” She grimaced and sounded chagrined. “We didn’t expect you to react that way to the sedative, by the way.”

“We?” asked Peter.

“Yes. We.” He looked up, it was slightly easier now, to see the newcomer. His heart dropped. Was he seeing things? Could this really be Norman wearing the Green Goblin armor? Norman handed a gallon sized container of amber liquid to Dr. Octavius. “Apple juice,” he said. “Peter’s favorite.”

How had Norman known that? Peter didn’t remember it ever coming up, not even back when he’d actually liked and respected the older man. Dr. Octavius simply raised an eyebrow at the information before she refilled the empty glass with the stuff.

“Drink,” ordered Dr. Octavius. Peter couldn't stop himself from obeying; the liquid ran down his throat in a soothing, sweet and slightly tart stream as he drunk it. Apple juice was one of his favorite drinks, after all. “I’m sure,” the doctor continued as she pulled away the once again empty glass, “that you have some questions.”

“Not really.” Peter’s brain was working enough to put things together. He dropped his head and saw that he was still wearing his suit—minus the mask. “You were hired by SHIELD to figure out Spiderman’s identity,” he said looking at Norman, “and you,” he added looking at Dr. Octavius, “played victim to get me off guard.”

Norman blinked but Dr. Octavius laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t exactly playing,” she said with a smile, clearly amused. “I got pinned by some debris and only my new arms—thank you for the algorithms by the way—saved me from getting crushed before you flipped the debris off.”

“SHIELD does not know who you are,” Norman said darkly. “And I will not tell them.”

Peter felt an anxious weight lift from his shoulders. Norman may have been a controlling asshole, but he was honest about it. If he said he wasn’t going to tell SHIELD who Spiderman was, he wasn’t going to.

Of course, none of that changed the fact that he was still bound and at the insane man’s mercy. “Why did you grab Wade?” he asked. He didn’t want to ask why he was still bound if they knew who he was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Deadpool,” Norman said primly, “would be an excellent addition to Oscorp if he could be controlled.”

Peter couldn't help the incredulous snort that sprang out of him. “Deadpool,” he said with the weight of experience, “can’t be controlled.”

“He loves you.”

Peter’s heart seized. Was Norman going to use Peter on Wade the same way that he’d used Harry on Peter? As a method of control? Here, at his mercy, the man could do whatever he liked to Peter and Peter—

—Peter was helpless to stop him.

“And,” Norman continued, “you love him. You have good taste in boyfriends,” the madman approved. “He would die before letting anyone hurt you and he can’t die.”

Peter remembered the confrontation with Agent Coulson. “SHIELD came to Aunt May’s to take him away,” he said as he remembered. “I stopped them.”

“Oh?” asked Norman sounding a curious mix of surprised, proud, and intrigued. “How did you do that?”

“I pretended I was you.”

Norman smiled and rubbed his head affectionately, as though he was a child who’d just done something praise worthy. “Good boy,” Norman said as Peter’s skin crawled at the contact. “Well done. Now,” he said as he turned to leave, “we just have to do something about this tendency of yours to throw yourself in danger for others.”


	135. Chapter 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin takes Angel's advice; Adriana talks with the young version of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two POVs this chapter. Kind of short. Hard to get out, too much happening at once. Wish me luck!

“Why am I here?” Quentin asked himself as he wiped sweaty palms against his thighs. He swallowed as he looked up at the hideously purple building.

No one knew why Stark made it purple. People had suggested other colors. The planning commission had tried to get him to change it by fining him. Stark was, for some reason, absurdly attached to this color for this building. Absurdly insistent that the building not only be purple, but _this_ shade of purple.

And all this musing over Stark’s questionable design choices was getting him no closer to going inside. If he opened those doors—if he walked into this building—he would be on Norman’s shit list forever.

Would that be a bad thing? Norman was insane and losing more of his grip on reality every day. Sure there were major benefits to working for the man (the free food and lodging having been primary on Quentin’s mental list), but the man was erratic. Look at the whole mess with Deadpool! Trying to alter the man’s memories and brain so that Quentin could give the merc “orders” from his “boyfriend.” The list of ways that could have gone so very wrong was long. He was still surprised it had ended as well as it had.

Then again: Norman was insane. There was no way to tell how he could react and if the Avengers—if _Tony_ didn’t listen to him, if they threw him out—

He’d have nowhere to hide. He’d have _no_ protection. Professor and his people had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer welcome at the manor. He was too old to try and find sanctuary with the street kids—assuming he could get them to trust him.

He chewed his lower lip for a moment as he paced in front of the doors. Was this a good decision or a bad one? Would this help him survive, or put him on Death’s door? He didn’t know.

He hadn’t lived this long without taking risks. Trying desperately to ignore where those risks had taken him he opened the door and walked in. The receptionist saw him.

He almost fled. He almost left. After all this, there was another barrier to pass.

“Can I help you?” asked the man behind the desk, eyes blinking slowly. Clearly this person wasn’t alarmed.

Quentin took a deep breath. “I need to talk to Iron Man,” he said. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans again. “About—about Oscorp.”

“One moment please.” The man picked up a phone and called someone, relaying Quentin’s message. He nodded, hung up, and pointed to the elevators. “They will take you where you need to go,” he said.

Quentin nodded. It might be a trap. It didn’t matter; he was trapped either way. He tried not to fidget through the long elevator ride to his destination. His mind kept running in loops of what would happen if it was a trap. If it wasn’t.

The doors opened and he hesitantly looked around—at a living room? Why was he in a living room? Before he had time to do more than wonder a voice called, “In here!” He stepped out and followed the call to—a dining room? A whole bunch of people appeared to be eating dinner.

His gaze was drawn towards one diner in particular. He felt his stomach heave in memory as she pointed a fork at him. “Do _not_ try to read my mind here,” she said. “We’re eating.”

***

Adriana and the child watched dispassionately as the human writhed in pain. Bits of exposed arms were turning sleek and black. “Yours turned faster,” the child said calmly.

“I am older,” Adriana replied. “And more powerful. They will turn faster in time.”

“But you won’t be here.”

The words, although they weren’t spoken with any acrimony, stabbed Adriana in her heart. “No,” she admitted. “I won’t be here.”

“But there is a way,” the girl pressed, “for you to get all the power you want.”

Adriana frowned. She’d told the girl everything she knew. This—this was unexpected. “No,” she said firmly. “I do not want you to get hurt.”

“More hurt than being left alone?” The girl turned piercing yellow eyes on her own. “It would be better.”

“No,” said Adriana. “It wouldn't.”

Neither of them commented on how her answer wasn’t as firm this time.


	136. Chapter 136

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns something about Oscorp; Gwen makes a breakthrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the second POV isn't really long enough to be a chapter by itself, so I put it with this one. Just explaining.

Peter learned something he’d always known, but never been quite so _conscious_ of before. When someone drank a lot of liquid, that liquid had to go somewhere. And that somewhere was out of the body.

Oh, and Dr. Octavius had enough of a grip on Peter’s powers to not release the restraints which led to her holding things for him while he peed in a cup. She tsked at him. “Peter, please. It’s a natural biological response. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Peter. “No one’s helping _you_.”

Her lips twitched into a smile at the comment. “Well, I think I know something that will distract you. At least for the moment.” She put a monitor on a rolling tray and rolled it over to where Peter could see it. “Take a look at what Norman’s doing.”

Peter really didn’t have much choice. He still wasn’t able to use his head very much. On the screen Norman was tinkering with what looked like a robot. A robot covered in something vaguely cloth like. Was he planning on trying the sex bots again? That hadn’t worked well the first time.

Norman spun the stool the bot was on to work on something on the back—and Peter stared into his own face. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” asked Dr. Octavius.

“What is it?” asked Peter. He couldn't tell if he was more horrified or more intrigued about what was going on.

“One of our researchers wanted to double himself. Norman said as long as he didn’t get into cloning—he has a real problem with cloning, by the way—he could do whatever he wanted. He came up with that.” Dr. Octavius nodded towards the screen. “Combine that with the Memcorder and it’s an almost perfect copy. Man even fooled his wife.”

“What happened to him?” Peter asked. What he wanted to know—what he couldn't ask—was why he hadn’t heard of this before. This technology—was _revolutionary_. It wasn’t like Norman to sit on something like that.

“Oh, the robot went crazy and killed him. Don’t worry,” Dr. Octavius added with a warm pat to Peter’s cheek, “we’re installing _yours_ with a kill switch so you don’t get caught in the same trap.” She gave a low hum and walked away as Peter watched with incredulous horror as Norman created a second version of him. “Norman’s under the impression that he’ll be able to cure you of your need to help people. _I_ know better.”

“You do?” Peter didn’t know what was worse. If she was lying and believed that he could be changed like Norman did—or if she was telling the truth.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” From the corner of his eyes he saw Dr. Octavius turn to face him again, one leg crossed over the other as she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Oh, yes. You forget Peter; I’ve worked with you. I’ve mentored your progress here at Oscorp. I know how you think.” She paused as she took a sip of her ever present cup of tea. On the screen Norman sealed a panel and the “skin” of the robot melded together, disguising it perfectly. “You put yourself behind others. You feel that other people’s lives, even those of people you’ve never met before, are more important than your own. That is a core part of you that can’t be destroyed. Especially not with the half-assed measures that Norman will be taking to do it.” She sipped her tea again.

He tried to look directly at her. He couldn't move his head. “Why are you helping him?” he asked.

She took a moment to stir the spoon in her tea before answering. “We all have things we want. You want to protect people. Norman wants a perfect world for his family.”

“What do you want?” asked Peter.

“Right now? For you to drink more apple juice. It would seem your metabolism is insanely fast and has already burned through what you had.”

As Peter obediently drank the juice (he’d never be able to look at apple juice the same way again) he realized that if the robot was able to act like him, have _his_ memories—it would, for all intents and purposes, _be_ him.

Wade would never notice.

_Wade…_

 

Gwen watched the matrix beat once—and held her breath. Two-three four-five six-seven. She barely registered the burning in her chest forcing her to breathe. It wasn’t until she gasped for breath she realized— _it was still beating!_

She jumped and punched the air in victory, grinning like a loon. It was  _beating_ . It was beating in a  _one-two_ rhythm. She had made a heart!

She grinned and flexed her fingers before getting to work making more of the matrix. Next thing was to make it into a an actual heart shape. Then—then she’d run it through every test she could think of. High speed. Low speed. Irregular beats. Anything a normal human heart could go through,  _this_ would go through. High temperatures. Low temperatures. This thing was going to be sturdy!

“It’s about time,” she told the matrices she made. She couldn't wait to show Peter.


	137. Chapter 137

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt takes Angel to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping. Let me know if you see any errors.

Matt was not surprised that Angel rejected Tony’s offer of a room. From the heartbeats around him, no one was. He  _was,_ however, surprised that Angel agreed to go with him, to his apartment.

“ _Was it last week, or the week before you were attacked by magic ninjas in your office? Your_ civilian _office?”_

Matt pushed the question out of his head. He needed to, in order to function. He had to get back or his own people would get worried. “Can you follow me?” he asked the girl. It was a fair question; she’d eaten quite a bit.

He could hear the grin in her voice when she said, “Try and stop me.”

Well well. A challenge. He leaped off the edge of the balcony, ignoring the cries behind him as he heard her huge wings thunder open.

She didn’t dive after him, as he half expected. She _followed_ his descent through the air, turning up when pushed off away from the building and caught another ledge to ricochet off of. Those wings kept track of him easily, no matter his route. He double backed three times just to see what she’d do.

When he landed on the roof of his own building she came to a landing beside him. “You’re favoring your left side,” she said.

Once again, he was surprised. “I pulled something.”

“Probably should have skipped doubling your path,” Angel drawled.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call me out on it.” This girl was curious.

Feathers rustled against each other and he was certain she shrugged. “I thought you might have heard something I didn’t. It’s noisy in the air.”

“Wings.”

“Them too.”

Matt grunted. The girl was an evasive one—but she would be, wouldn't she? He had no idea what she was watching under the city, but she was just as careful as he was with Fisk’s people. Not that he’d seen Fisk for a while. The man was laying low with his family in danger. Matt approved—Fisk’s kid was good people.

“Follow me,” he ordered as he slunk his way into the building. Only the merest hint of a rustle told him that she was obeying and he got the impression that he wouldn't have heard that much except she was allowing it. Cheeky kid. He liked her.

He easily made it to his door, went to open it—and frowned as he realized it was locked. Why would it be locked? He never locked it. He didn’t even have a key.

There was a breathy chuckle behind him. “Please, allow me.”

“Allow you?”

“I,” Angel said as the familiar clicking of lock picking took place, “have some—unsavory skills.”

“Gotten how?” asked Matt as the door to his apartment swung open. He stopped her from entering with a firm hand when the door didn’t creak. There was a reason he didn’t oil the hinges.

“Dad had a unique view of babysitters,” Angel replied as she waited. “You realize I’m stronger than you, right? And heal faster?”

He snarled wordlessly.

“All right then.”

Cautiously Matt crept into the apartment. Something was off. Something was wrong. Something—smelled like rosemary.

He sighed and relaxed. “Damn it, Elektra.”

He heard her chuckle. “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“You don’t have a lot of room to talk. When I saw the two of you going after that monster, you _both_ sucked. And? For the future? I suggest you aim for the joints.”

“What a charming child you are,” Elektra said calmly. Matt could hear the murderous rage simmering beneath the surface—but then her rage always did. “And you would know?”

“Age doesn’t always mean experience.” Matt heard the flinch—and frowned. What did Angel know that he didn’t.

“Well, your apartment is safe. I was looking to make sure you were all right; Foggy called and said you went ballistic.”

Right. He owed Foggy an explanation. “Bad air,” he grunted as he felt wildly for the phone his bitch of an ex moved. Again. Why did she feel the need to rearrange his apartment every time she was in it?

“To your left. Sorry the lights aren’t on,” Elektra said in a dangerously sugary sweet voice. “Matt sees no reason to pay for power when he can’t see.”

Angel snorted. “Sell that to someone who _can’t_ hear the electricity through the power lines,” she said. “To your left Matt.” By moving his questing hand to the left he found the phone and uttered a quick thanks as he made his phone call while shamelessly eavesdropping on the two females.

“Well, I can see he’s in good hands.”

“His own.”

“I see. Thanks kid.”

Matt frowned. Elektra sounded warmer towards the girl somehow. What had he missed? “Foggy? I’m okay.”

“Bull fucking shit Murdock!” yelled his associate. Matt winced.

“No, really. I am. I got hit with that stuff and it made my senses go haywire, but it was stopped and cleaned up.” He paused. “Angel, where’s Dora?”

“Dividing. She ate too much today and has to.”

What? What did the girl mean “dividing”?

“You owe me,” Foggy said on the phone.

“Always,” agreed Matt absently as he listened to the girl rummaging through his mail. He wasn’t worried that she’d read it; not only was it still dark in the apartment but the letters were written in braille.

“Why are you getting a subsidiary check from SHIELD?” asked Angel.

“You can read braille?”

“Yeah.” A pause and he heard her put the papers back on the table. “One of my uncles decided I needed to know, just in case. I have a lot of uncles, and aunts.”

“Why are you on the streets if you have so many relatives?”

“I’m not. I’m in your apartment.”


	138. Chapter 138

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade feels that Angel is irresponsible.

Wade stared at the poor, shivering little blob. It’s normal bright pink had turned a dark purple and it looked cold. Its blue eyes looked into Wade’s own. “Ponyo?” it asked tremulously.

The poor little thing! Where the Hell was Angel, anyway? How could she just abandon her little blob like this?

“Deadpool, what are you doing?” asked a voice behind him.

Wade didn’t even turn around. “Look at this Spidey!” he declared. “Angel just left her poor, helpless slime out here alone!” He reached down and picked the blob up.

“She what?”

“And look! The poor thing is _clearly_ not feeling well! Someone needs to have a good talk with that girl about responsibility!”

{Not us.}

[True, that would be a pot calling the kettle kind of position.]

“Deadpool, are you sure you should be picking that thing up?” Wade turned to see Spidey on the wall. The web-slinging hero crawled a couple of inches away.

“What’s wrong with you Spidey?” asked Wade, feeling hurt. It was bad enough that Angel had abandoned this poor, helpless little thing—

Wade looked around the grassy hill in astonishment. He’d died? How? He heard laughter and turned to see his Love, Lady Death, doubled over holding her midsection as she laughed.

Wade looked around. “What happened?” he asked, confused. He’d been _there_ talking to Spidey and holding the little thing that Angel had abandoned. How had he died?

Death finally stopped laughing long enough to answer. “Wade,” she said with a deep smile. (Some said the skeletal face of Death had no expressions, but Wade knew better, and how to read every one of them.) “Wade, the slime exploded, and took you with it.”

“Why did it explode?” asked Wade. From what he’d seen the slime had been perfectly healthy. Surely Angel would have said something if it wasn’t.

Death’s smile gentled as she looked at him. “Perhaps,” she said as the world around him began to dim, “there were other people better suited for answering that.”

Wade opened his eyes in a back alley. “What the fuck just happened?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry Deadpool,” Spiderman said. “I tried to say it faster, but I didn’t make it.”

“Say what faster? What happened?” Wade sat up, ignoring the pain and crunches as several bones, not yet completely healed, cracked under the pressure. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes and blinked again.

[We can’t really be seeing this right.]

{Ohmygod! Look at how _many_ there are! Wade! Can we keep one? Please?}

Wade stared into the darkness as half a dozen (healthily pink) slimes stared back at him. “Ponyo?” one of them said. Soon the rest of them took up the chorus.

“I think it’s because it functions like a single celled organism, even though it clearly can’t be because active cells aren’t that large,” Spiderman said as Wade stared at the half dozen talking blobs. “The darker color must have been created by the internal divisions—”

{He’s such a science geek. Let’s propose!}

[No, because he has no idea we know who he is, remember? And we don’t want him thinking that we’re cheating on him.]

“Spidey, can you break it down simply?” Wade asked pathetically. “My brain’s still coming online.”

“Oh. Well, Angel has been traveling with Dora for quite a while.”

“Yeah.”

“And she loves the slime.”

“Yeah…” Wade still didn’t see where the hero was going with the information.

“So if she left it somewhere when it seemed like it was in pain and _was nowhere nearby_ there must have been a reason.”

“Right.” Wade blinked. Twelve bright blue eyes blinked right back at him. “What do we do with them?” he asked.

“Find Angel?” Spiderman sounded as lost as Wade felt. “I mean, she should know how to handle so many of them—appearing.”

Well, it wasn’t like Wade had a better idea.


	139. Chapter 139

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane meets Dr. Stacey; the children are adjusting.

Mary Jane’s hand lightly traced the outer curve of Harry’s cheeks through the tube. She didn’t know why someone had drawn a mustache on the glass. She didn’t care.

She bit back a sob as she looked down on the pale face. Oh, too pale! Almost like he was dead and this was just an expensive coffin.

No. They’d told her that he was still alive, and she had to trust that. She had to believe that they were right.

She barely noticed that her hand dropped to her midsection until it was pressing into her skin. She pulled away and looked away. She couldn't just think about herself now—or just about Harry. There was too much at stake.

“Ms. Watson?” Mary Jane turned, wiping tears away to face the blond in front of her. The blond woman was slightly older than her, and her blue eyes were kind. “The records say you’re Next of Kin.”

Mary Jane couldn't help but wince at the term. The last time she’d heard it Peter had been lying on a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

No. No, Harry would be fine. _She_ would be fine. Their baby would be fine.

Mary Jane marshaled her scattered thoughts and looked at the blond woman again. “Yes?” she said.

“I’m Dr. Stacey,” the woman introduced herself. “And I think we have a viable option for a heart.”

 

Ellie allowed Yukio to hug her. She was the only one allowed to touch and she was more than capable of enforcing her boundaries. Especially with the facility kids.

They did not grasp basic concepts. Some of them, especially, were have trouble with _“It’s a fucking bathroom, get the fuck out!”_ Luckily, the teachers were enforcing the boundaries and explaining to the facility kids why the boundaries were there, why they were necessary, and that the boundaries applied to them too.

Honestly, Ellie was surprised there weren’t more issues. That was probably chalked up to Angel. Somehow, Angel had made herself “alpha” of the kids (whatever that meant) and as Angel had actually _lived_ with them for a while, the street kids got a level of respect from the facility kids that Ellie didn’t think they’d have otherwise.

And Mr. Lehnsherr was fucking creepy with how much he wanted to hold the Twins. Like, she got it. He was their father, he’d been looking for them, and he loved them. But come on! Let them down occasionally!

Mr. X was good about keeping Mr. Lehnsherr…contained. He’d calmly remind the man that his children were safe, were here, and _didn’t need picked up every five minutes_. So that was good.

Ellie didn’t know why she was so antsy. It felt like something was prickling under her skin, almost like she was itching without actually itching. Something was wrong—but nothing was wrong. Something was bad—but nothing was bad. There were _annoyances_ , but there was nothing _bad._ But the feeling wouldn't go away.

“Ellie!” cried Yukio as she draped herself over Ellie’s shoulder. The girl’s face was so close and her lips looked so soft. Those lips curved into a smile. “What are you thinking, Ellie?”

Ellie snorted. “You know what I’m thinking,” she accused. Yukio’s brown eyes were warm. Something about being in the other girl’s company almost made her—comfortable.

Yukio pressed her cheek to Ellie’s. “It will be all right,” she said. “Just because things are going well, doesn’t mean they’re about to get bad.”

Ellie tilted her head towards Yukio’s and inhaled the lightly floral fragrance that seemed to follow the other girl around. “It just feels like it is,” she complained.

A sharp clap made the two of them look up to see one of the teachers looking at them. “Okay—from now on all doors that _both_ of you are alone behind need to be open.”

“What? Why?” demanded Ellie.

The teacher looked at her and turned. “Where’s Jean? This is Jean’s responsibility!” she called as she stalked off.

Yukio chuckled and kissed Ellie on the cheek. Ellie flushed at the feeling—but she didn’t hate it. “Everything will be okay Ellie.”

Well, if Yukio said it, Ellie had no choice but to agree.


	140. Chapter 140

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is awoken in the middle of the night.

Matt kept perfectly still. There were people in his apartment. He knew the movements he was hearing weren’t from Angel; she’d asked permission to build herself a nest near the ceiling, had climbed in, and hadn’t moved since. No, there were more people in his apartment.

Were they in his room? His hearing was so acute when he first woke up it was hard to tell if the sounds he was hearing were right next to him or if they were in the next room over.

There. The rasp against the textured wood of the coffee table. They were in the next room over. He got out of bed and silently made his way to the living room, pinpointing the sounds. Oddly, sounds that reached the corner of the ceiling where Angel had made her nest didn’t bounce back into the rest of the apartment. What had she made that out of? She hadn’t used anything _in_ the apartment, that was for sure.

Matt waited to speak until he was in the living room. Three. There were three of them. Who were they from? Fisk? The Hand?

“Can I help you?” he asked. It was possible that they were just burglars who didn’t know who he was. Most burglars left after seeing he was blind. He heard the distinctive _shing_ of weapons being drawn. Ah. Not burglars then. He didn’t have to hold back.

One of them leaped on him and he bent just enough to toss his opponent away. The opponent (male, by the build of the body) slammed into the wall, glass crunching under his body. Matt winced. He didn’t know what Foggy had hung there, but the other man was going to be pissed that it was broken.

The other two take advantage of his distraction to grab him. He twisted—

And was suddenly free. “I. Was. _Sleeping_.” Matt barely recognized the dark voice as Angel.

A moment of silence from all involved. For the first time in a long time Matt wished he could see. He wasn’t certain what was happening, but he was sure it would be memorable.

“We are the Hand!” said one of them.

Nice to know _which_ group of villains was attacking him, he supposed.

“Do I look like I care?” snarled Angel. “No! _I_ look like someone who was _sleeping_! Actually _sleeping_!”

How long had it been since Angel properly slept? This was the second time he’d heard her state that she was tired and sleeping. Then again—she’d been living on the streets. She must have been alert, all the time.

Matt had been there. Most specifically the first time he’d crossed fists with Fisk and realized _who_ the man was. And been terrified that the man knew who _he_ was. His body ached with sympathy for a moment.

Then he heard the soft clanging of magic and swore as he prepared to fling himself at the two in Angel’s grasp—only to hear a soft chiming of magic that seemed to _eat_ the clanging.

If Matt could see he would have stared at her. He’d heard that sound before—from Strange and that novice person who was always running around with Strange. He wondered, idly, if Tony knew. The man had been trying to get Strange to let him dissect the Mystic Arts for years.

“Are you a gift?” asked one of the intruders.

“What’s the difference between a gift and a curse?” Angel countered.

“We—”

“I don’t care.” Matt heard the raw fury in her voice. “I was _sleeping_. I have no quarrel with you. Now, go away and let me sleep.”

“You will make yourself our enemy.”

“I won’t be here long enough to care. Shoo.” Twin thuds as she released the two she was holding. “And grab your buddy before I chuck him out the window.”

To Matt’s surprise they _obeyed_. He wondered what Angel had done. “You study the Mystic Arts?” he asked.

“God, no,” she said. She yawned. “I only know enough to keep shoes and make shields. You’d _think_ I wouldn't need to know to make shields, but _no—‘To learn one aspect of the Arts you must learn the basics.’_ Honestly.” She snorted.

Matt suppressed a grin. Her imitation of Strange was spot-on. “So you’ll be traveling to another world soon.”

Another yawn. “Yeah. Hopefully I’ll finish my business first and can go _home_.” He heard the naked longing in her voice.

Matt realized that Angel was just a child. No wonder the Avengers had been worried about her alone on the streets. They looked at her and didn’t see the raw power she was; they saw a child who needed protecting. Having been both the child that needed protecting and the power that hadn’t at the same time, Matt understood why she’d agreed to go home with him. _He_ wasn’t determined to smother her with affection.

He whirled as he heard the light scraping of someone climbing the side of his building. Spiderman? It sounded the same—but also different at the same time.

He was still puzzling over the difference when he heard a voice say, “Angel! Dora exploded! And now there’s six of her!”

What was Deadpool doing in Matt’s apartment?

“Six?” The girl sounded horrified. “Oh, I’m sorry Dora. I had no idea you’d eaten that much!”

“Ponyo!” The voice was higher pitched than normal, and Matt heard as the thing glooped over towards Angel.

“Ponyo!” Five different voices, almost the same pitch, spoke up.

“I knew it!” Spiderman this time. But his voice wasn’t quite right. “So, are they like amoebas, and split to procreate?”

“Sort of. But they only procreate when they’ve eaten more than they can handle.” There was an odd _sh-shk_ sound as Angel spoke and Matt tilted his head, trying to figure out what it was. “Poor baby,” Angel crooned again.

“So—what did she eat to make her divide into sixths?”

“The contaminant from the bomb,” Angel explained. “Dora held her position, filtering the air going through her for _hours_. Not to mention cleaning the people going through the border.”

“No wonder she divided more,” said Spiderman.

Matt frowned. His voice was still—off. Slightly wrong. But why? What was different? What was wrong?

“So—what do we do with the mini Doras?” asked Deadpool. There was more of the _sh-shk_ sound that Angel had been making.

“I don’t know. Do you want one? They seem to like you?”

Before any of them could answer a low, almost inaudible rumble ran through the city. “That’s not good,” said Angel and Spiderman at the same time.


	141. Chapter 141

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman tries to change Peter's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened. I tried to post this chapter. Thought I posted this chapter. But it wasn't posted.

Norman came and took a seat in front of Peter. He’d left the robot alone to “wake up,” before the robot looked around and left—wearing the Spidey suit. “How do you feel?” asked Norman.

Tired. Achy. Confused. “ Oh, you know. Sunshine and roses. Why am I still here?” he asked.

Norman ignored the question. Peter wasn’t surprised. He _was_ slightly surprised that Dr. Octavius was nowhere around. She’d been hovering over him, especially after attaching some kind of sensory equipment to his temples. “Tell me, Peter. What made you decide to be Spiderman?”

Out of all the questions Norman could have asked, that wasn’t one that Peter had expected. He blinked in surprise. “I—have to,” he said. His voice came out less firm than he would have liked.

He hadn’t thought about _why_ he was Spiderman for years. He just—was. He helped people. _Spiderman_ helped people. That was more than enough for him.

But not, apparently, for Norman. “Tell me Peter,” Norman said, “have you ever considered how much damage you’re doing?”

_This_ he knew. “I know that sometimes there’s structural damage, but—”

Norman interrupted waving a hand dismissively. “Who cares?” he asked coldly. “If the city gets damaged, construction companies get more money to fix it. City damage, coldly calculating as it seems, stimulate the economy. No, I’m not talking about the city. I assume May knows.”

The change in subject caught Peter off guard. “Uh, yeah. She knows.” He hadn’t been able to hide it.

“Good. Think about that for a moment. May knows what you do in your spare time. Can you imagine the anguish you’re putting her through?”

Peter stared. Anguish? What was the man talking about?

“Think about it Peter. Every time you’re late. Every time she doesn’t know where you are. Can you imagine how worried she gets? Wondering if you’re hurt? If you’re fighting a battle you can’t win? If something has happened?” Norman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he regarded Peter. “Do Harry and Mary Jane know?”

“Of course not!” Peter protested. How could he risk them knowing?

“Then think about this: you’re constantly late.” Peter didn’t want to know how Norman knew that. “You miss events, or have to skip out on them entirely. _And they have no idea why_. How must they feel? Like they’re playing second fiddle to something else in your life? Something they have no control over? And what about if they see you after a fight? How do they feel seeing their friend, their brother, injured so often?”

Peter’s stomach roiled. He’d never thought about it before. Aunt May had never given him any indication about her being worried about him when he went out as Spiderman—except for one time. One time he’d gotten stabbed by the sword of one of Daredevil’s magic ninjas. He’d gotten sick then, and it was the only time he could remember that Aunt May had looked worried. Had she just been holding it in? In order to keep from burdening him?

And Harry and MJ. Peter knew that Norman was right about them. How many times had the three of them made plans that Peter had had to bail on? How many times had the ghosts of hurt and sorrow crossed their faces when he made his excuses? He’d even cut his own high school graduation ceremony short for patrol!

Peter barely noticed as Norman stood up with a nod. “You think about that,” he said before he left.

“Like I said, half-assed,” said Dr. Octavius cheerfully as she sat down in her regular chair with her mug of tea.

Peter swallowed. During Norman’s speech his mouth had gone dry. “What do you mean?’ he asked her.

“If it were up to _me_ , I’d find out what parts of your brain light up during your crime fighting and fit you with a series of electrodes designed to shock you every time your brain went there,” Dr. Octavius said calmly. “But, Norman’s of the opinion that you’d be stubborn enough to take permanent damage if we did that, so he’s trying things his way.”

Peter could only feel his heart drop as he watched the woman stir and sip her tea.


	142. Chapter 142

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel, Wade, and Spiderman learn something important.

“But wouldn't that upset the balance if they stay here?” Spiderman asked Angel. After a brief moment when all three hearing enhanced people had tensed, they’d relaxed again.

{Wonder what happened?}

[We’ll see when it’s relevant to the plot.]

The girl yawned and Wade looked down at the little pink blobs in his lap. They enjoyed being pet like Angel pet her own pink blob. They also didn’t seem to notice that they were being spoken about while the one Angel was holding kept looking between her and Spiderman. Matt simply leaned against one of his walls, arms crossed over his chest as  his face twitched between a tiny frown and a small smile  that danced at the corners of his mouth.

Angel shrugged. “I don’t see how,” she said simply. “Dora’s not exactly native to  _my_ world either, and according to Hel the balance is fine there.”

Wade grinned as he saw the frown on Matt’s face. “Hell?” he asked.

“No, Hel. The person, not the destination. Although,” said Angel with absolute fairness, “if she doesn’t like you it could be a Hell.” Angel turned and saw the look on Matt’s face before hastily adding, “But there aren’t many people she doesn’t like!”

Wade couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. The cute, adorable little blobs in his lap burst out laughing with him.

[We can’t keep them.]

{Why not? Angel said we could.}

Suddenly the other three tensed again. “Where did that come from?” Spiderman  asked.

“I got it,” said Angel grimly as she head towards the window. Wade watched as she leaped into the air, fierce wing beats taking her quickly out of sight.

Matt sighed. “Better go after her,” he said. “She just woke up.”

Spiderman turned towards Wade. “Ride?” he asked cautiously.

Wade squealed and glomped onto the smaller man’s back. He  _loved_ catching a Spiderman ride. “Amazing!” he screamed as they flew through the city. 

[His webs aren’t as taught as they should be.]

{He’s probably just tired. He had to deal with the aftermath of a bomb by himself earlier.}

“Look out!”

Wade wasn’t certain who said it, but suddenly Spiderman tumbled through the air towards a building, landing on the side. Slid for a couple of inches, then caught.

[That’s not normal.]

{He’s probably tired. When’s the last time he slept?}

Angel landed neatly on the side of the building next to them, nothing to say that the two of them weren’t sitting on the ground other than the slope of Wade’s hanging body. “What  _is_ that?” she asked.  They all turned to stare at the road.

The pavement was  bulging outward around a manhole. Tiny cracks, like fissures, emanated from the metal cover. The heavy metal cover suddenly shot into the air.

{I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.}

[No shit.]

A long, thin black armored leg poked out of the now open hole in the pavement. Wade watched it wiggle for a moment and bit back the urge to tell a dirty joke.

{That looks like a—}

[Shut up!]

Before Wade could actually say anything the thing burst through the street, sending pavement flying. Angel dropped from the side of the wall to grab the thing. She seemed to just be trying to shove it through the pavement and Wade released his hold to drop to the street. He broke both ankles, but they healed quickly. “That’s not how you kill a monster,” Wade said as he pulled his katanas.

“DON’T!” screamed Angel. He paused. Speaking quickly she said, “It’s still human inside; it’s just being controlled!”

For a moment blackness swum through Wade’s vision. Still human and being controlled. That’s what Weapon X tried to do to him, so very long ago.  Spidey dodged an inhuman arm that grazed his side.

[That’s oddly slow. Usually he responds faster.]

{Tired. I keep telling you he’s tired!}

Between the two of them, they were able to shove the monster back under the street where it scuttled off. Angel sighed, looked over at Spiderman—and stared. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s new,” she said calmly. Wade followed her gaze.

Spiderman’s side, where he’d been cut by the flailing monster arm, was sparking had exposed circuits. “What?” the fake Spiderman asked, concern in his voice. “What?” he demanded again looking between the two of them. He looked down at his side and shrieked before collapsing.

[I KNEW it was a fake!]

{But he’s just like Petey! How can he be just like Petey-Pie?}

“All good questions,” Wade said. He looked at Angel. “What do you think?” he asked her.

Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted as she looked at fake-Peter. It was a gesture he’d come to realize meant she was thinking hard about something. “I think,” she said as she suddenly stood up, “that we need more information. Can I see your cell phone?”

Wade handed it over. “Who are you calling?”

“A lab.” She dialed with quick efficiency.

“Who’s going to let you use their lab?”

“Someone who still owes me six cases of water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the programming was sophisticated enough that he passed out. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. :)


	143. Chapter 143

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby is born; Harry has an operation.

The agent watched impassively as the woman thrashed in her restraints, pregnant belly shivering. “When did the contractions start?” he asked the doctor in the room.

The doctor was just as passive to the woman’s pain as the agent. “As soon as we injected the mutagens into the fetus.”

The agent nodded as the woman let out another scream and a flood of amniotic fluid burst out of her. “Did the mutagens take?” he asked.

“Too soon to tell.” The doctor sighed. “We won’t really know until the baby starts developing.” The doctor turned to one of the nurses on staff. “Get the cradle ready. This birth is going to be quick.”

“It should be,” said the agent calmly.

One of the nurses came with the plastic cradle and placed a red, blue, and white blanket in the bottom for padding. On the side was the code  _14-S_ . The doctor went into the labor room and measured to see how dilated the woman was.

“I am going to kill you all!” the woman screeched, her voice rising and falling with the contractions. 

Doubtful. The neutralizing collar around her neck should see to that. Even  _if_ her power only seemed to work on locks. The agent had once seen an operative kill with a child’s hair clip, so he was taking no chances.

“You’re all going to _die_!” the woman screamed.

The doctor turned. “Get a kit! There’s internal bleeding!”

“No,” whispered the agent. They’d lost four of their subjects because the mother had died too quickly. They couldn't afford to lose this one; with Norman holding Spiderman there might not be another chance for the genes.

Despite the desperate work of the the doctor and nurses, the woman died—but the infant, taken from her, was alive. A loud, protesting squeal tore through the nearly silent ward as the baby was cleaned and bundled up.  The agent waited anxiously for a health report.

The doctor, after handing the infant to the nurses who took it to be fed, came into the viewing room. “The baby is a perfectly healthy little girl,” the doctor reported. “Remarkably healthy, considering what the woman tried to do when we injected the mutagen.”

The agent winced at the memory. The woman had tried to stab her infant through her own skin. “Any distinguishing characteristics?” he asked.

The doctor’s head shook a negative. “ It’s far too early for any to develop,” the doctor explained. “The earliest we’ve documented is fifteen months.”

The agent nodded and remembered the look on Norman’s face when he’d handed over the blood. He clapped the doctor on the shoulder. “Keep an eye out. I have a feeling this one will develop faster than the others.” He left.

***

MJ watched, heart in her throat, as Harry was wheeled into the amphitheater. He was on a metal gurney, and a mask was over his face. She didn’t know if the mask was delivering anesthetic or oxygen. She hated that she didn’t know—but at the same time she didn’t want to know.

Stark Industries had created an artificial, organic heart.  It was beating in the clear fluid they had it placed in as the surgeon made the first cut. The cut that would lead to them cracking open Harry’s ribs—

She stumbled away from the window and retched into a waste can. When she leaned against the wall, trying to get a grip on herself, she absently noted that the can had no liner. Whomever was responsible for cleaning this was going to be upset, but it had been the closest thing. And it was better than puking on the floor.

“Are you all right?”

MJ turned her head to see the blond doctor from before. “Dr. Stacey,” she said weakly.

Dr. Stacey grabbed a chair and dragged it over to MJ, forcing the young woman to sit down. “It’s all right,” Dr. Stacey said calmly. “Not everyone can handle the sight of surgery. There’s a reason I have a PhD instead of a medical degree.” The doctor gently rubbed MJ’s back.

“I—I just keep thinking, ‘What if I lose him?’” MJ said softly. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. What if _they_ lost him? What would happen then?

“How far along?” asked Dr. Stacey gently.

MJ gave a tremulous smile. “Sixteen weeks,” she said softly.

“Well, let me assure the both of you.” Dr. Stacey smiled. “Stark only hires the best. Right here, right now, he has the absolute _best_ possibility of getting a full and complete recovery.”

MJ nodded, her lips trembling. Norman wasn’t going to be happy about this. His only means of control over Harry and Peter had been destroyed. She didn’t know what he was going to do now.


	144. Chapter 144

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Norman examine Robot Peter and learn both something horrible and something useful.

“This is fascinating.”

Wade wanted to smack Stark in his face as he peered at Baby Boy—

[Not Peter.]

{Fake Peter.}

Which was why he balled his hands in his lap. He felt lost. He’d thought he’d known where Petey-Pie was, and what he was doing. How long had he been replaced? Had Wade just—never noticed?

“No, I’ve got to be the real Spiderman,” the robot on the table said as Angel took a tiny took and did—something—to his innards. “I mean, I remember _me_. I remember that—” A quick glance at Stark and the sentence was amended, “I have a job.” He looked at Wade. “I remember how _we_ met!”

Stark ignored him. “The circuitry is amazing.”

Angel gave a low hum. “Are you feeling me root around in here?” she asked him. She was putting some kind of cable attached to what looked like a flat-screen TV in the robot.

“No,” said the robot, sounding distressed.

Distressed, and how Wade wanted to hug him and make him feel better. Squeeze him tight and watch him relax—

—but he wasn’t Peter. He wasn’t his boyfriend. He didn’t have the right.

“How do you _know_ I’m not the original?” asked robot Spidey, clearly desperate.

Angel paused in what she was doing. Stark backed up. Both of them looked at him.

What? Why were they looking at him? _They_ were the smart ones!

[They want to know if not-Peter is right.]

“Real Spidey bleeds,” offered Wade tentatively. “I’ve helped stitch him up.”

The robot slumped and looked so small, so defeated that Wade just wanted to scoop him up in a hug.

But he wasn’t _real_ Spidey. Would _real_ Spidey be upset if Wade consoled robot Spidey? He felt like he should be interrogating the robot—but it was so _much_ like Peter…

The little blobs (that had stayed with him somehow through everything) spoke up in their chorus of, “Ponyo!” One of the little blobs detached from Wade, sped over the floor towards the table robot Spiderman was on, shot out a tendril of itself, and then rose to sit in robot Spiderman’s lap. “Ponyo!” the little thing said in its high-pitched voice.

Robot Spidey absently rubbed the top of the blob, like Angel did with hers. Stark looked at them both. “What the fuck is that?” Stark demanded.

“Dora had too much to eat so she had to divide,” Angel said calmly as she went back to examining and tinkering with Robot Spidey.

“Hi Dora,” said Robot Spidey morosely.

“No, that’s not Dora. _This_ is Dora,” Angel said as she gestured to her shoulder—where Dora just appeared, somehow. “ _That_ doesn’t have a name yet. You can name it if you like.”

“It?” asked Robot Peter.

“No gender, asexual reproduction, so yeah. It.”

“I’m having a conversation about the reproductive habits of a _slime_ ,” muttered Stark.

“I think they’re more like giant amoeba than slime,” Robot Peter offered weakly.

“And _you’re_ not participating. _You’re_ hovering over my shoulder. Stop that!” Angel gently (must have been gentle because the hand was still attached) smacked Stark’s hand away. Lines of text appeared on the screen and Angel quickly scrolled through them. “It looks like Osborn gave you two forms of enhanced hearing,” she mused.

“Why would he do that?” asked Robot Peter.

“How do you know it’s Osborn’s?” asked Tony.

“In order.” Angel pointed to Robot Peter. “I don’t think he has any idea how Spider sense works, so he decided it must be an unconscious interpretation of vibrations, so you’re going to have to be extra careful.” She pointed to Tony. “The innards have the Oscorp logo on them.”

Wade was suddenly next to her peering into the open wound—not wound. He squinted and could barely see the capital O with the tiny c nestled in bottom of it.

[How good _are_ her eyes?]

{Petey’s sad! Hug him!}

[It’s _not_ Peter!]

{Close enough!}

“Wait, if—if _Osborn_ has—real Spiderman,” said the robot in a tone that sounded slightly ill, “then we’ve got to rescue him!”

“I’m sure Spiderman can handle himself,” said Tony.

{Bitch say what now?}

[I’m sorry. Has _anyone_ informed this moron about how Norman was _blackmailing_ Peter? At all?]

{Can we kill him?}

[No, because then Peter will be unemployed. But we can dump dog shit in his suits.]

Angel gave a low whistle. “ _That’s_ a nasty program,” she said.

“What is?” Tony peered over her shoulder. He gave another low whistle.

Wade peered over Angel’s other shoulder. The white text against the black screen could easily have been gibberish for all the sense _he_ could make out of it. Robot-Spidey fidgeted. “What?” he demanded. “What is it?”

“You’re designed to slowly fail in your Spiderman duties until a kill switch activates, shutting you down completely,” Angel said translating the text for Wade and filling in Robot-Peter who couldn't see the screen.

“Why would Norman want _that_?” demanded Tony.

“He wants Spiderman to die.” Tony and Wade turned to stare at the weary little (robot) spider.

“What?” asked Tony, clearly confused. “Why?”

(Robot) Spidey looked up and Wade could see the heartbroken expression through the mask, despite the fact that it wasn’t nearly as emotive as his own. “Because he can’t control Spiderman.”

Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as Wade walked over hugged (robot) Peter. “It will be okay,” he said softly. (Robot) Peter gave a broken laugh. Wade looked over at Angel for help—and saw her doing something with the TV. “What are you doing?” he asked, curiously.

“First,” she said as her fingers flew over the touch screen, “I’m destroying the kill switch. And—ooh. _This_ is an interesting little side program.”

“What is it?” asked Stark, peering over her shoulder again. Wade hooked his chin over (not) Peter’s head and waited for her to explain it.

“You’ve been equipped with a ‘superhero extraction’ program,” Angel said as she scrolled through the text on the screen.

Not(Peter) suddenly gripped Wade’s arm. “Can you get rid of it?” he asked tightly.

“I _could_ ,” Angel said thoughtfully. “I think it’ll be more useful if I just blunt the teeth of it though.”

“What?”

“I have a plan to rescue organic Spiderman,” Angel said. She looked between all three of them, once again the subject of rapt attention. She sighed. “None of you are going to like it.”

“You don’t know that,” Stark said. “What’s the plan?” Angel told them.

She was right. None of them liked it.


	145. Chapter 145

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel gets captured.

Peter kept his eyes closed as he heard the clanking and clicking next to him. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, they’d believe it. Maybe if they thought he was asleep, Norman wouldn't try to talk to him again.

It was true that Spiderman caused a lot of grief in Peter’s life—but he’d also helped. When MJ was dropped off the Empire State Building, when Aunt May was caught in the subway tunnels when the underground was collapsing, when Harry was almost hit by a car. And—Aunt May _knew_ that Peter was Spiderman. After the initial, “What the Hell were you thinking?” lecture, she had calmed down and laughed before saying that it “must be in his blood.” Then she’d seen to it that he’d gotten some fighting training.

So, Aunt May _wasn’t_ being torn apart by anxiety every time he was late for something. He knew that. He knew that to his core. It was just hard to remember with Norman talking in that smooth voice of his.

Peter knew that voice. That was the voice Norman used for investors. For new recruits. When he wanted something to go his way. Peter had just never had the voice used on him before.

Suddenly there was a moment of vertigo as he was spun a quarter turn. He opened his eyes—to see an unconscious Angel strapped into restraints. Her arms were suspended up next to her head and she was strapped into what looked like a thin metal cage that seemed designed to keep her arms and legs immobile. Her wings hung limply on the floor, likely because the restraints hadn’t been designed with wings in mind. He couldn't see it, but he was certain that the restraints around him looked exactly the same.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” Norman said tartly.

Peter looked down guiltily as Angel said, “Aw. What gave it away?” Her wings flipped up and tucked themselves against her back as she grinned at the madman in front of her.

That was when it hit Peter: Norman had _nothing_ he could use against Angel. They knew nothing about her. They didn’t even know what she was expecting to happen (besides monsters coming from under the streets—again). Angel wasn’t even her real name.

Most of the time when he thought about it, Peter found it sad and isolating. In this moment, however, he thought it was brilliant. Norman _couldn’t_ play the same games on Angel that he did on Peter; he simply didn’t know enough about the girl.

Norman simply crossed his arms and looked at the girl. “Do you realize,” he asked, “that SHIELD has been attempting to get people interested in investigating you?”

Angel’s wings flipped in the approximation of a shrug. “What can I say? I’m a popular girl.” She grinned.

Norman’s mouth went tight and his eyes narrowed. “Indeed. I find myself impressed by your healing ability. Tell me, what would happen if I just took your blood and injected into myself?”

Angel smirked. “Hey, Peter,” she called. He twitched slightly in his restraints as she spoke. “How do you feel about someone failing the Darwin test?” Before Peter could answer she said, “See, my blood is only compatible with three people. It gets into anyone else and it just eats through them like acid.”

Norman frowned. Peter was horrified at the mental image. “What the Hell?” he asked.

Her wings flipped again. “He’s not the first one curious about it,” she said calmly. “One of them _did_ it.” Her body shuddered. “The screaming was horrible,” she said.

She looked so pained that Peter’s eyes roamed over as much of the room as they could without his head moving—and he saw, against the wall behind her, the robot that had been designed to look like him. The mask was gone, showing the face—that looked just like his own. Before the cold tendrils of fear could seize his heart and make it stop he met the eyes of the copy—who winked.

Winked? Why? What was going on?

“Who are three people you’re compatible with?” Norman asked.

One wing gave a lazy sweep, and the robot silently began making his way out of the room.

Enlightenment struck Peter like a lightning bolt—they were working together!

Had she lost her _mind_ ? Norman was dangerous and the _best_ plan they could think of was for her to get _captured_? If she was his daughter he would ground her for a month!

Was this what Aunt May had felt when she’d first found out?

“Why should I tell you?” asked Angel. Her voice was taunting, mocking.

“Because I will torture you for the information if you don’t.” Norman’s voice sounded horrifyingly reasonable.

Angel’s reaction was not expected. She blew a raspberry at Norman. “Please,” she said mockingly. “You think that hasn’t been tried. ‘Oh, pretty girl—what happens if your fingers break?’ Well, dumbass, my _insanely good healing factor_ will fix them. And then, of course, there are the creative ones. Dragon Lady, oh man—I couldn’t sleep in a bed for _years_ . And the Witch? Man, I tell you I couldn’t even _look_ at a glass of water. And Phoenix? That bitch locked me in my own nightmare for a week. A _week_!” Angel paused and looked thoughtful. “Actually,” she said, “now that I think about it, I’m noticing a disturbing pattern here…”

The lights, almost on cue, dimmed. Norman looked around and Peter began to sweat as he recognized that cold look of fury on the man’s face. “What have you done?” Norman demanded in a clipped tone of voice.

“Me?” Angel asked in an overtly innocent tone that wouldn't have fooled a two year-old. “ _I’m_ a little tied up at the moment,” Peter couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped at the bad joke, “so just what do you think _I_ could have done?”

Norman shot her a glare that gave Peter chills before he stomped off. Angel began to chuckle. “Another thing,” she said as she rocked her head back towards her hands, “is that a woman never would have pinned my hands so close to my _hair_.” He watched in shock as she withdrew a lock pick. In less than three breaths the cuffs were open and she was stretching. “Good thing I brought you a change of clothes,” she said as she walked over and began picking the locks with ease.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked as he pulled himself free and stretched with a wince.

“Probably not, but some of the street children can. I taught them how.” She pulled out—another Spidey suit and handed it to him. Where did she get it? He only had the one, and it was on the robot.

The door to the small room (surprisingly not a traditional lab) opened and the robot was there with wide eyes. “I think I’ve got them distracted.”

“Good.”

Peter looked at his copy. At this thing that had been in his life. That had come back to save him anyway. “Thank you,” he said.

The robot looked down, nibbling on his lips. Peter recognized the expression—he wore it when someone was thanking him. One of the good things about Spiderman: the hero could swing _away_ while people were still grateful to be rescued. “I had to,” the robot said softly, in Peter’s voice.

“Oh, yeah.” Suddenly Angel smacked Peter in the shoulder. “Why do you only have one suit?!” she demanded.

Peter opened his mouth—as the floor they were in rocked slightly. “What’s that?”

“Just a guess, but I think our backup is getting a little impatient.” As they ran out of the room she added, “You are _so_ lucky I know how to sew.”


	146. Chapter 146

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Robot Peter help Angel save Real Peter.

W ade growled as he tossed the grenade in one hand, glaring into the building’s interior.  His eyes were squinted as he ignored the stream of people evacuating past him. There were only three people he wanted to see.

{Why wait? Just a few strategic grenades and this building is nothing more than a memory.}

[You want to risk hurting Peter? Let them get him out first.]

{I like Not-Peter.}

[Don’t call him “Not-Peter.”]

{It’s nicer than Robot Peter.}

[I’ll have you know that’s  _descriptive_ , not  _derogatory_ .]

{Oh,  _someone's_ into the big words today!}

Clanking took Wade’s attention away from the fight between the boxes and he turned his head to see the woman.

{I remember those arms!}

[You should. The last time we saw them we were kidnapped, remember?]

The woman those long, mechanical arms were attached to shoved her glasses back into place on her face with her wrist, looking shockingly like Peter for a moment. “You are trespassing, Deadpool.”

“Yeah,” said Wade, still tossing the grenade up and down. “I don’t give a fuck though.”

{What about this bitch? Can we kill  _her_ ?}

Wade could feel White consider it. He looked up at the woman with rage simmering just beneath his skin.

[Uh, you might want to tone that down. Just a bit. Still don’t have eyes on the group.]

The woman’s lips curled up in a sneer. “Oh?” she asked. “You’re breaking the law and trespassing, and you ‘don’t give a fuck’?”

“ _You_ kidnapped my boyfriend!” snarled Wade.

[Genius. You idiot. They might not have known that Peter was Spiderman.]

“Your boyfriend is an adrenaline junkie who is going to get himself killed if we don’t burn that part of his brain right out of his head,” the woman said fiercely.

It took a moment for the three parts of Wade to process what the woman had said. First: she knew that Peter and Spiderman were the same person. Second: she thought Peter was Spiderman for  _an adrenaline fix_ .

And most importantly of all, she wanted to kill part of the person he loved.

{KILL THE BITCH!}

[Make it painful.]

“You,” said Wade in a calm manner that would have made anyone present who knew anything about him scared as fuck, “are going to die.” He tossed the (fake) grenade to the side and drew his swords. 

“You say that like you think you can kill me!” One of the mechanical arms plunged towards him.

Wade waited for the very last moment before ducking, ignoring the pain of his shoulder as the arm took a piece of it and one sword sliced off the  leg.

The woman screamed as though he’d sliced off one of her  _real_ arms.

[Sounds like that hurt.]

{Good.}

Wade was in agreement with them. He whirled and got another mechanical arm, she let out another scream, and now she only had two left. She wobbled as the stumps of the two severed arms wiggled helplessly.

[Let’s see how  _she_ likes being helpless!]

A third slice and the third arm gone. “Another one down, another one gone, another one bites the dust!” sang Wade as he whipped around and got the fourth one. The woman flopped to the ground and he sheathed one katana to grab  the silver bit on the bitch’s back that the arms came out of. “I wonder if this will hurt,” he said viciously as he began to pull. She began to scream, but not a full scream. No, this was the breathless scream of someone in  _so fucking much pain_ that they couldn't draw breath.

Wade should know. He’d made that sound before.

“Stop!” A hand grabbed the one on the woman’s back.

Wade had just enough time to recognize the red, blue, and black design on the glove of the hand before something moved out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed Spidey close, threw the sword he was holding—and Angel easily dodged it as the katana bit into the wall next to her. She raised an eyebrow at him. She was fine. He cuddled Spiderman close. “SPIDEY!” he screamed as he held the hero.

A hand came up to pat him on the back. “I’m here,” Spiderman said.

[Pretty sure this is organic Peter.]

{How do you know?}

“Charming as this is,” Angel said as she grabbed the sword from the wall and pulled it out, “we really ought to be—holy _shit_! Is this a _diamond blade_? Where did you manage to find one?”

Wade stared at the teenager cooing over his sword for a moment before he began to snicker. She was just like Peter, admiring the sharpness of a blade before considering how that blade almost hurt her. He looked around. Spidey, in his arms, check. Other Spidey, on the ceiling (probably planning further interference), check. And Angel, still admiring the sword.  All present and accounted for. “Let’s get out of here,” he said stepping away from the woman.

{I thought we were going to kill her.}

[Can’t kill in front of Spiderman. Either of them.]

“True,” Wade said as they left the building. When they convened on the roof of another building Angel was still holding the sword and smiling at it. “Have you ever seen a diamond blade before?” he asked.

“I have a dagger,” she said. Her mouth still wore that absent fond smile. “Dad gave it to me. He said I needed a lethal weapon. Papa reminded him that I _am_ a lethal weapon, and reminded me to aim between the vitals. And hold back. Always hold back.” She expertly twirled the sword and handed the katana to him hilt first.

“Nice,” said Wade as he took the blade from her.

“Tony should have the information by now,” (robot) Spidey said.

(Real) Spidey looked at the other one. “Tony?” he asked. Wade couldn't see a frown on that cute little face, but he could hear it in the voice.

“Yeah, we uh, we needed help,” (robot) Spidey said. He rubbed the back of his head in that way that Wade knew meant he was nervous.

“Your secret’s still as safe as it was,” Angel interjected.

“Yeah. They were uh, really careful about that.” Robot-Peter scuffed the toe of his Spidey boot against the roof. “So, uh, what do we do now?”

Angel frowned. “About what?” she asked.

“There can’t be _two_ Spidermans,” said both Robot-Peter and Real Spidey at the same time.

“Why not?” asked Angel. She stepped towards the two. “How many times have you wished you could be in two places at the same time?” she asked. She gestured jerkily between one Spidey and the other. “There you go!”

Real Spidey turned to Wade. “Deadpool,” he asked, “how do you feel about your boyfriend having an identical twin?”

The question shot straight to Wade’s groin without any interference from his brain and Angel gave a disgusted groan. “Well,  _that’s_ not an image I wanted to see,” she muttered. “ _I’m_ off to see if the offer of a nest is still valid.” She gave them a salute before jumping off the roof and flying through the city.

“A nest?” asked Wade.

“I don’t want to know,” both Spidermen said at the same time.

[This is going to take some getting used to.]

{Wonder how Peter’s going to spin getting a sudden twin?}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Diamond Blades are a figment of the author's imagination and have no connection to Marvel or it's associated properties. I just wanted a gaga reaction. Thank you for your patience and understanding.


	147. Chapter 147

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and his robotic copy talk to Aunt May.

May stared at the two Peters on her couch. The story they told was incredible, impossible. Yet, there they were. She held up a hand. “Wait.” Both Peters glanced at each other and subsided,  _almost_ perfectly in synchronization. She looked at the one on her left. “You’re the robot?” she asked. 

That Peter cringed and hunkered down on the couch. “How does everybody  _know_ ?” he whined. “ _I_ didn’t even know!” Peter on the right reached over and gently squeezed the other’s shoulder.

“Right.” May had no patience for this. For just a moment she longingly thought of the amber liquid and the lovely fire it would burn through her—but she couldn't afford to be compromised. The situation was bad enough. “My God Norman,” she said violently. Both Peters flinched at her voice.

She wants to tone it down, but she can’t. Did he even realize what he’d done? What he could have done? Did he  _care_ ?

And then she realized—it was perfect. She could do it. She could help them. She could help Peter  _make this work_ . And all because Norman, in his stupidity, didn’t realize the gift he gave.

Ha! No taking this back! “You!” May pointed to the left Peter. “For the sake of  keeping everyone from getting confused, you’re Benjamin Peter Parker and you,” she turned to Peter, “are Peter Benjamin Parker. Understand?”

Both of them blinked and she waited for the information to sift through their heads. “But,” one of them—didn’t matter which one at this point—said, “how would that work.”

“Wait here.” She knew they would follow the order and she went upstairs. Once there she got out the fireproof box that she and Ben had kept their records in. Tax records, medical records, birth certificates. She pulled out Peter’s. Was this a mistake? The boy was so smart…

And if he was that smart, then it was time for the secret to come to life. It had never been meant to be permanent after all. She took the paper downstairs and dropped onto the couch between the two of them. Their bodies reacted exactly the same way. Their expressions of confusion were identical.

_Norman, I don’t know if you’re an idiot or a genius._

May held out the paper for both of them to see. This was Peter’s first time ever seeing his own birth certificate (and she still wasn’t entirely certain how she’d managed that) and she pointed to a section on the certificate labeled “Multiple Birth” and, under it, was the word, “Twin.”

“I have a twin?” asked Peter in shock as he looked at the paper.

“Sometimes,” May said carefully, “when twins are born one of them just—fails to thrive. No one knows why.”

It wasn’t a lie. She’d seen in in the hospital so many times. She tried not to lie to Peter.

Misdirection wasn’t a lie.

“Oh.” Peter sounded said. Other Peter—Ben—reached over and gently traced the paper. “I’m sorry, Aunt May.”

May shook herself. Peter had  _nothing_ to be sorry for—but explaining would be confessing, and she’d never been good at that. There was a reason she wasn’t Catholic. “Well,” said May as she shook herself, “it works for us. For you. It will work.” She turned to Ben. “I know that if you’re like Peter,” she said, “that you’re intelligent and able to pretend. So we’re going to go over this until you  _believe_ it to be true. Or maybe doubt the truth.”

“Aunt May, what do I tell _Wade_?”

A pause. A beat. She smiled. “That,” she said with some satisfaction, “is  _your_ problem.” She gave each boy a kiss on the cheek and got up to put the paper back in the box.  It still worked. It still held. Oh, there were flaws, of course. There always had been.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the box after she closed it. They’d been keeping the secret a long time. Mary and  Richard . Her and Ben. Norman. Only two of the five of them were still alive now.

Peter had all the pieces. If he thought about it, if he put that brain of his to work—he’d figure it out.

Perhaps the time for secrets had passed.


	148. Chapter 148

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Ben talk to Wade.

“Long lost identical twin?” asked Wade as the two Peters sat on his couch.

(Fake) Peter groaned and threw an arm over his face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he plead to the room. (Real) Peter reached over and pat his arm.

Wade just wanted to get between the two of them and hug them both. Would that be okay? Would they get upset? He didn’t know.

[Best to just wait.]

{But they look so _sad_ ! And hugs _always_ make Petey-Pie feel better!}

Wade sat next to Peter and compromised by hugging (real) Peter to him. “So, what’s your twin’s name?” he asked.

[Twins. Does he really expect us to believe that they’re really twins?]

{Maybe you should believe that it’s time for you to _shut up—_ }

“Ben,” said (fake) Peter.

Wade reached over Peter and shook Ben’s hand. “Nice to meet you Ben. You as big a nerd as Petey-Pie?”

Both of them make the exact same disparaging sound. “’Nerd’ is not a description,” they chorused at the same time. Then they looked horrified.

Wade flung a leg over Petey marveling in the way the younger man _relaxed_ into his touch, the way he always had. “What do you call it?” he asked, teasingly.

“Science.” Once again the two of them spoke in tandem and they shot each other grins. Wade wiggled in delight as “Ben” looked at the two of them and continued. “Mostly the studies of organic and inorganic matrices created to hold form and perform organic functions.” “Ben’s” face shadowed for a moment and then he looked away.

{Is he jealous?}

[He has Peter’s memories Dipshit. Of _course_ he’s jealous.]

Wade wanted to hug him and make it all better—but he was hugging Peter. How would that even work?

Peter solved his dilemma. He reached out for Ben. “Come here,” he suggested softly.

Ben flew into Peter’s arms with a small mewl and Wade wrapped himself around both of them as the robot broke down into sobs. Sobs that weren’t unlike Peter’s when he’d confessed to Wade that Norman was blackmailing him with his best friend’s life. Poor boy. Poor boy _s_. Wade just wanted to cherish the both of them.

{I don’t understand.}

[Fake Peter is dealing with the fact that, however accidental and not his fault it was, he stole Peter’s life for a bit.]

“I’ve got an idea!” said Wade as he launched himself from the couch, leaving Peter holding his robot copy. Both of them looked at him with wide, wet eyes.

[Down boy!]

“Be right back!” said Wade in a tight voice. He ran to the bathroom and, for a moment, locked himself in. Okay, maybe more than a moment. But what was a merc to do in a situation like this? It was like a fantasy come to life!

He washed his hands (because he wasn’t a monster and he didn’t care what the Brawny TM  man did; hands get washed after certain things. He went back into the living room—to see Peter still hugging Ben, and gently brushing a hair out of the copy’s eye. It was the same thing Wade had done for Petey, so many times.

Peter looked up and smiled at him. “What was your idea?” he asked.

{So many things.}

[I said DOWN!]

“Pancakes!” said Wade desperately. He had to do something to break the tension—or he was going to break. “I thought I’d make pancakes! They make everything better.”

Both Peter and Ben groaned and almost sent Wade back to the bathroom.

[Fix food first, dumbass. I’m sure Norman created a robot that would need to eat, since he needed it to pretend to be Peter.]

{Do you think they’ve talked to May yet?}

A good question. Wade repeated it as he began mixing his pancake batter. Both the young man and the robot trailed into the kitchen after him. “May brought out my birth certificate,” Peter said thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” asked Wade. He noticed that Peter leaned against the counter where he could watch Wade make food. He seemed to enjoy watching Wade cook. From the corner of his eye, Wade noticed that Ben took a similar pose on the other side of the kitchen and leaning against the wall.

[Are you _embellishing_?]

{He is! He totally is!}

Yellow was thrilled. White was not. Eh, White was a party pooper anyway.

“Yeah,” Peter said. What had they been talking about again?

[Birth certificates.]

Right. Birth certificates. “And?” he asked. He carefully kept his tone completely casual.

Too casual if the roll of Ben’s eyes and the light smack of Peter’s hand were anything to go by. “ _And_ ,” drawled Peter, “I was a twin.”

Wade looked up. “What?”

Peter nodded. “I asked about that too. Aunt May said that sometimes, when twins are born, one will just—fail to thrive. She sounded heartbroken, so I didn’t push it.”

“She makes good lemonade,” Ben added. “And she said I can live with her until I get a place here.”

Peter scowled. “ _I_ said you can live in my apartment.”

Ben shrugged. “I think we both know that’s not going to work.”

He sounded defeated and Wade gave him the first stack of pancakes. “Time for the even better stuff!” he said as he got his bottle of 100% pure Canadian Maple Syrup TM  and dumped a liberal amount over the tops of the fluffy golden things while Ben held the plate. “Go, eat up,” Wade suggested as a soft, sad smile tickled the corner’s of Ben’s mouth.

Wade turned to Peter. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Peter rubbed his face as Wade made up another batch of pancake mix for the two of them. He, and therefore Peter, could hear Ben eating in the living room. “I don’t know,” Peter said, sounding lost. “It’s just—it came out of nowhere.”

[More for Ben than for Pete, but yes. It did.]

{HUG HIM NOW!}

Wade poured some batter onto the pan before he turned and gathered Peter up into a hug. The younger man relaxed into his hold and let out a soft sigh. “No worries, Petey-Pie,” he said soothingly as he gently rubbed Peter’s back. “Everything will be all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, the paper towel company Brawny did a campaign with a webseries that said, "It's okay for men to be strong AND soft." And so, the first episode aired. It showed the Brawny man in the bathroom, putting down the toilet seat as he explained that there's nothing wrong with looking out for the hind ends of the ladies. And I, and every woman watching, screamed the same thing at the same time. "WASH YOUR HANDS!"


	149. Chapter 149

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Ben talk; Harry wakes up.

After visiting Wade, Peter and Ben—Peter and Other Peter—sat in Peter’s apartment. Ben looked miserable—of course he did. But this wasn’t his fault.

“It hurts,” Ben admitted after a long moment, “seeing the two of you together. Feeling like it should be me.”

Of course it did. For all intents and purposes Ben _was_ Peter. Peter sat down next to Ben knowing that the other enjoyed the feel of physical contact. Only his closest friends and family knew. May knew. Harry and MJ knew. Wade—well, even if Wade didn’t know he _guessed_. “I’m sorry,” Peter said softly.

Ben’s mouth quivered in an attempt to smile. “It’s not your fault.”

Peter leaned over and hugged his copy. “It’s not _your_ fault. It’s all Norman’s fault.”

“Fucking Norman.”

“Yeah.”

Peter couldn't explain why he felt so—protective over his copy. He just wanted to make sure the other felt secure. Safe. All the things that Peter felt when he was with Wade. He leaned over and gently bumped his shoulder into Ben’s. Ben leaned back.

“What are we going to do?” Ben asked, feeling lost.

“Aunt May gave us the perfect cover story,” Peter said.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. It seems—strange,” the copy admitted.

Peter didn’t have to ask what felt strange. He felt strange about the reveal of the information on his birth certificate. He felt strange about realizing that he had _never_ seen his certificate before. Oh, Aunt May and Uncle Ben hadn’t _hidden_ it from him—but he’d still never seen it. Of course, it had never occurred to him that he wanted to.

And Aunt May hadn’t _said_ that Peter’s twin was dead. What she’d _said_ was that when twins were born sometimes one would die. Peter, having worked with street children for as long as he had, was well versed in the ways of misdirection that weren’t _exactly_ a lie. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it, but he was sure it meant something.

Did that mean he had a long lost twin out there? A real one? One that he’d never met? How would he know? Were they identical twins, as he and Ben were pretending to be, or were they fraternal? How would he _know_?

The answer was he didn’t. He’d never know. He could _ask_ , of course, he doubted that Aunt May would lie to him—but he was afraid to. There was a reason why this had never come up before, why she’d never told him about this. He didn’t know what that reason was, but he knew there was one.

“We shouldn't ask,” Ben said, confirming Peter’s thoughts.

“No,” agreed Peter.

Suddenly Ben choked on a sob and dropped his head to Peter’s chest. “I’m alone!” he cried.

Peter merely hugged his copy, trying to rub his back in a soothing pattern just like Wade did. “No, you’re not,” he said softly. “We’re here. We’re all here for you.” Ben cried harder. There was nothing Peter could do but hold him.

***

The first thing he noticed was the loud beeping of machines around him. Was he in the hospital again? Or his father’s “medical ward?” What had happened?

The next thing he noticed was his chest. It hurt—but not like it usually hurt. The pain was both deeper and more superficial at the same time, and he wasn’t sure why. What could cause that difference? It didn’t make sense!

He managed to force his eyes open into the bright glare of halogen lights. “Harry?” asked a breathless, frightened voice. He turned his head to see—MJ. The bright lights shone through her red hair, making it look almost as though she was surrounded by a cool fire. She reached over him and he felt her hands gently stroke the outline of his cheek. “Are you—okay?”

“He’s healing up quite nicely from what we’ve seen.” Harry’s gaze tracked from MJ to a man. This was a man in a lab coat.

Harry’s first instinct was to panic—but this wasn’t one of his father’s people. If it was, he had no doubt that MJ would have been bundled up and locked away while he “recovered.” It had happened before, after all.

“Don’t strain yourself,” MJ said as she noticed the spike in the monitors. She reached out and grabbed his hand as she nibbled her bottom lip.

“A little strain is all right. You need to get your body adjusted to the new heart. We’ll also have to get you started on some immunosuppressants,” the doctor said.

A snort grabbed his attention and he looked past the doctor to the hallway to see a blond woman, about his and MJ’s age, leaning against the open door frame. “I keep telling you,” the woman said in a stressed voice, “that the immunosuppressants are not needed.”

“With a transplant there is a chance of rejection,” the doctor countered. From the weary tone of voice it was an argument that had been going on for a while.

“There’s nothing for the body _to_ reject,” the blond countered.

“When introducing a new element to a human body—”

“Doc, I _built_ the damn thing and ran it through every test I could think of—”

“This young man is _not_ your patient Dr. Stacey!” The doctor glared at the woman. He took a deep, calming breath before he turned back to Harry—who saw the blond give the doctor the finger before she walked away. “We’ve got a rehabilitation schedule lined up, and you should be good as new in as little as six months.”

“What?” Rehabilitation? For what?

MJ gently stroked his face again. “You’ve got a new heart, Harry,” she told him. He looked up at her. She was smiling through her tears and all he could see was the angel that he’d fallen in love with. “Your father can’t control us anymore,” she added.

That was when what they were saying sunk in. Harry had a _new heart_. One that hadn’t been made by his father. One that hadn’t been created by the sadistic, controlling bastard. Norman had no way to control Harry now and, by extension, no way to control Peter.

Norman was going to _pissed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know anyone who woke up from a heart transplant, but this is what Google told me would happen. Sorry if it's not accurate.


	150. Chapter 150

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning with Murdoch and associates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yes. So, quick disclaimer. I'm actually not all that familiar with Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, but I am a fan of deniigiq's version of Foggy, best seen in https://archiveofourown.org/works/20106787 Highlight and right click to read--it's hilarious and awesome. So I maybe channeled a bit of that Foggy? Forgive me please.

Foggy stared at the corner of the ceiling in Matt’s apartment. After the apparent shooting at Oscorp the night before, he’d wanted to make sure that Matt had no part of it. He’d been expecting to find Matt broken and bloody (again) while he growled about the shitty man who had tried, several times, to hire their law firm.

He had not been expecting to see what looked like a giant spider’s nest in the corner of the room. It almost looked like an egg sac, except that it was less bumpy. The wispy webbing around the spider’s nest was almost perfectly white (where the morning sun wasn’t touching it through the windows), so Foggy was almost certain the nest was new.

Foggy glared at the nest. Trust Matt to bring home something dangerous. “ You had better not be in there,” he growled.

“In where?” Foggy turned to see a groggy Matt, eyes vacantly staring in their unnerving way, as he absently scratched at the exposed skin over his pajama bottoms. Pajamas, Foggy was amused to note, that had singing frogs with umbrellas printed all over them.

“In the nest on your ceiling.”

“Nest?” For a moment Matt looked confused and Foggy began to panic. Was it something that had  _ followed _ Matt home? Those never went well.

“Oh,” said Matt suddenly, making Foggy slightly relax. “Angel. She said something about making a nest. What’s it look like?”

“A spider’s nest Matt. It looks like a spider’s nest.”

Matt’s head turned in the direction of the nest. “Interesting.” He picked up something from a nearby table (small, empty vase) and chucked it at the nest—and the vase came to a stop as though the webs were sticky. A thin arm wrapped in pink reached out of the nest, flailed for a moment, then plucked the vase out and drew it back into the center. “Up,” Matt ordered. “ Breakfast time.”

Foggy glared at Matt. “And who is Angel?” he asked.

A thud got his attention and he turned to see a girl. A girl in a shiny pink leotard. A girl with wings. A  _ child _ .

The child—Angel—yawned. She then glared at the kitchen where Foggy could hear Matt getting out some cooking utensils. “Do you have something against  _ sleep _ ?” she demanded.

“It’s morning,” Matt replied as he walked up to Foggy and put a carton of eggs in his hands. “They don’t feel right,” he complained.

Knowing what was expected of him Foggy sighed and opened the egg carton. And stared. Looked at Matt and then back at the egg carton. “Matt,” he said slowly and with as much patience as he could, “why do you have an egg carton full of grenades in your fridge?”

Matt didn’t answer. He simply grunted and  meandered back to the kitchen leaving Foggy to hold the weapons. As Foggy stared at the contents of the egg carton Angel came up behind him.  She laid an arm on one of his shoulders and leaned over to look at the carton. “Huh,” she said. “Looks like something Deadpool would do.”

“Don’t compare me to that lunatic!” roared Matt from the kitchen.

“ Takes one to know one!” Angel called back, not intimidated at all.

Foggy stared at the girl. Her bright, amber eyes felt like they were drawing him in. “Where did you come from?” he asked, slightly horrified.

She sighed. “That,” she said, “is a  _ very _ complicated answer.”

That was what Matt had said the first time Foggy found him bleeding out on the floor of the office. “Simplify it for me,” Foggy said firmly.

“I’m both from here and not from here.”

“Angel, you’re staying for breakfast.” Foggy blinked at Matt’s comment. He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen with his face in the girl’s direction. As Foggy watched he could see Matt’s nose flaring. Not for the first time, he wondered what his friend/coworker/partner was thinking when he did that.

“You don’t want me staying for breakfast,” Angel protested.

Matt frowned thunderously. Foggy knew that expression, and he wished he was holding the broom in case Matt needed a knock upside the head again. “You’re not eating enough.”

Foggy could  _ feel _ the teen roll her eyes. “Of course I’m not eating enough,” she said. “I eat a  _ lot _ .” Foggy looked at her and she shrugged her shoulders, wings echoing the movement. “I have a fast metabolism.”

“You’re staying for breakfast,” Matt ordered before turning towards the kitchen.

“Ugh. Is he always such a grouch?” complained Angel. Suddenly she straightened. “Matt, NO!”


	151. Chapter 151

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Wade have lunch.

Wade wandered down the street. He was trying to decide if he needed to go to Petey-Pie’s work. He’d been against Peter returning to work so soon after his ordeal, but he’d said that he didn’t want to risk making Stark suspicious. Wade thought it would take more, personally, but he had to admit that Peter knew the man better.

{Don’t forget that he yelled at Stark for us.}

[So, visiting Peter’s off the table today. What are we going to do?]

{We could kill Norman. He can’t kill Peter’s best friend anymore.}

Wade paused as he considered it. Killing Norman, the man who’d had him kidnapped, who’d had  _ Peter _ kidnapped, sounded good. It might actually be a good way to release some much needed stress. He started to turn to change direction.

“Hey, Wade.” Wade turned  to his favorite robot.

“Ben!” said Wade happily. He reached out and enveloped the robot in a hug—and smiled when he felt Ben relax into the embrace. The way Peter always did. Would Peter be upset that he was hugging Ben?

[Probably not. We’ve seen Peter hug him  to make him feel better.]

“What brings you out this way?” Wade asked.

“Nothing. Everything.” Ben sighed. “Peter and I agreed that, after seeing a fake Spiderman, Stark would be supremely suspicious if an identical Peter just showed up. And, given that I strongly suspect you already know Peter’s—secret, I came to talk to you.”

Wade blinked. “Does Petey know?” he asked warily.

[You mean, ‘Does Petey hate me for knowing?’]

“I don’t think he’s thinking about it. He doesn’t really care if you know, he’s just scared you’ll hate him for it.”

{Why would we hate him?}

Wade thought that was a good question, so he repeated it. Ben shifted, suddenly uncomfortable and Wade let him go. “I—I mean, Peter is—well, he thinks you might hate the fact that he hasn’t told you his secret and he doesn’t want you to think that it’s because I don’t trust you but because the longer it goes without being said the harder it gets to say…”

{Hug him!}

Wade did. “Calm down,” he advised. “Breathe.” Ben took a slow, deep breath and let it out again slowly. “That’s right.”

[If that’s the spiral Peter’s mind is going through, it’s no wonder he hasn’t told you he’s Spiderman yet.]

It made sense. Peter, despite his ability to take things in stride that would freak out most people, did tend to panic about the strangest things. “Hey,” said Wade, “wanna get lunch?”

[It’s breakfast time, you idiot.]

“Yeah, but breakfast isn’t time for burritos, and I want some burritos!”

Ben laughed. “Sure,” he said weakly.

Wade wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s (robot’s) shoulders and steered him towards the best taco truck in New Amsterdam.

[Also the only one open this time of day.]

{Can a robot get food poisoning?}

Wade ordered food for the two of them and Ben helped him get the food to a table before they started to eat. “So,” said Wade, “aside from your fantastic company—which is wonderful, don’t get me wrong—what brings you out this way?”

Ben smirked. “I know my ‘company’ is fantastic,” he said. “That’s why I agreed to date him.” Suddenly his face fell. “Why Peter agreed to date him.” Ben slumped. “This is so fucked up.”

“Have a taco,”  Wade said.

Ben shot him a tired smile. “The answer to all life’s problems?” he asked.

“Well, no. But it sucks having to face an existential crisis on an empty stomach.”

[You would know.]

Ben took the taco and took a bite, grease rolling down his chin. He chewed and swallowed before wiping his chin with a napkin and talking again. “Anyway, I have—Peter’s memories, all right? And there’s something he’s been wanting to ask you to do, but stuff keeps happening.”

Wade waggled one of his nonexistent eyebrows. “Tell me more,” he said, his voice deep and sultry.

Peter choked on a laugh (and possibly part of the taco) before he spoke. “Okay, so I know you gave up the killing-for-pay thing a while back.”

“True,” admitted Wade. He picked up a napkin and began to fiddle with it.

{I’m not sure I like where this is going.}

“How do you feel about being a bodyguard?”

[I didn’t see that coming.]

“A bodyguard?”

Ben nodded. “It’s—well, you’d be  _ hired _ by the scum of New Amsterdam, but you’d be protecting the innocent.”

Wade frowned. He turned the information over in his head. “Ben, I’m going to need more in the way of details here.”

Ben flushed. “Someone’s trying to kill Kingpin’s wife and son,” he said bluntly.

“ You—want me—to bodyguard the Kingpin?” asked Wade.

“No!”

“Good, because he’s one of those fuckers that I’d totally be down with killing if I still did that.”

Ben was silent for a moment as he toyed with the remains of his taco.

[If nothing else, the fact that there’s still food in front of him shows that he’s not Peter.]

“I know,” Ben said softly, “that the Kingpin has done some terrible things.” He looked up at Wade and met the older man’s gaze with his own unflinching one. “But his wife and child are innocent, Wade.”

Wade’s heart almost broke. True. But—if he was looking after the Kingpin’s spawn, who would be looking after Peter? After Ben?

“If I do this,” Wade said as he grabbed a sugar and cinnamon dusted churro. “I am going to charge him out the wazoo.”

Ben grinned. “Totally,” the robot agreed. The two of them ate in silence for a moment. “And you got the job recommendation from Spiderman,” Ben added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not forget about this plot thread! And yes, Kingpin's wife and son are still okay.


	152. Chapter 152

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, Harry, and MJ talk.

Peter stopped in front of the closed door of the room, the antiseptic scent of the hospital floor feeling like it invaded his very pores. He should go. He should really go. They weren’t going to want him here.

“Peter, stop hovering and  come in,” Harry called.

Harry had always known when Peter was dithering about something, even if they weren’t in the same room at the time. Peter took a deep breath and opened the door. MJ sat on a chair next to the hospital bed, beaming in the early morning sunlight that was streaming through the windows.  Her bright hair hung around her head like a halo. On the bed, Harry’s hair was doing much the same thing. 

Harry looked drawn and tired—but he also looked relaxed. More relaxed than he had in years, since before Norman started pulling his power trips. Peter tried to smile. “You look good, Harry,” he said softly.

Harry gave him a crooked grin. “So do you. How’ve you been, Pete?”

Peter gave a shaky laugh and entered the room, closing the door behind him. He knew the medical personnel would knock if they needed in. “Better now that I know you’re okay,” he said.

It was true. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, like he could breathe for the first time in a long time. Harry was here. Harry was fine. Was going to be fine. Was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

Harry reached out and Peter crossed the room so his friend could grab his hand. “Peter,” said Harry grimly, “Norman is going to be _pissed_.”

Peter sighed and slumped. “I was hoping you wouldn’t think of that,” he admitted. He didn’t want Harry stressing. What Harry needed was to feel safe and relaxed and worrying about the madness that his father was getting up to wouldn't get him there.

“Peter.” MJ’s voice was soft, worried. Kind. “What did he do?”

Peter looked around, spotted a rolling chair (probably designed for the doctor) and scooted it over to the hospital bed so that he was close to MJ and Harry. His best friends. “He kidnapped me,” Peter confessed.

Identical looks of horror crossed both faces as they stared at him in shock. He winced. “He—what?” asked Harry, clearly shaken.

Peter used his wrist to push his glasses (glasses that Wade liked so much) back into place on his nose. “There were two bombs. I was—near one of them.” He had to do this without mentioning Spiderman. Neither of them knew he was the infamous web-crawler and he intended to keep it that way. Needed to keep it that way. He swallowed. “I saw Dr. Octavius get pinned by some rubble,” he continued. “She…” He trailed off.

“Dad’s pet doc drugged you,” said Harry flatly. When Peter’s wide eyes darted to him the prone figure gave a wry smile. “That’s how they got me on the operating table Peter. I went into the office, got stabbed in the neck, woke with, ‘And now you have a new heart and have to do whatever I say if you don’t want me to kill you by stopping it’.” Harry grimaced.

The heart. “I’ve got to tell you something about that heart,” Peter said grimly. Both of them gave him their undivided attention, MJ putting her hand on Harry’s shoulder as if knowing that he would need the support. She probably wasn’t wrong. “The heart wasn’t designed to kill you,” Peter said. “We—we were able to look at it.”

Several emotions ran through Harry’s face. Rage, disbelief, anger. “Then what was happening?” he demanded.

“The heart was designed to pump a neurochemical known to create pain into your bloodstream,” Peter said flatly.

Harry sighed and dropped his head back into the pillows cushioning him. “So it wasn’t designed to _kill_ me, just make me feel like I was dying.” Harry flung the hand that didn’t have an IV in it over his head and gave a weak, bitter laugh. “Can’t risk damaging the merchandise,” he said.

“I’m sorry Harry,” said Peter softly.

Both Harry and MJ snap towards him with identical irritated gazes. “No!” they say at the same time. They glance at each other, MJ winces, and Harry continues. “My father’s insanity _is not your fault_.”

Peter looked down. They’d had this conversation before. But Harry and MJ were like family to him. _Were_ family to him. He loved them; he needed to protect them. He was Spiderman; he shouldn't fail at protecting them! But—he did.

MJ sighed and changed the subject. “Norman kidnapped you?” she asked.

Peter grimaced. “Yeah. He—he made a robot. To copy me.”

“A life model decoy.” Peter and MJ looked at Harry who was staring off into space looking disturbed. “LMD. Norman’s been playing around with them. But—why would he turn one into you?”

Peter hadn’t even known of the existence of the LMDs. He shrugged. “I don’t know. But he programmed it to be just like me, only he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does, so Wade knew it wasn’t me.” Peter wasn’t about to tell his two best friends that the reason Wade had known was because the LMD had gotten hurt while on Spidey business.

MJ grinned. “So, Wade came to your rescue?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Peter nodded. “The LMD insisted. And Angel, I don’t know if you’ve met her—she’s a friend of Wades and wears a pink leotard.”

MJ looked sharply at him. “The one with wings?”

“Wings?” Harry looked up, confused as he looked between the two of them.

Peter gave a low chuckle and readjusted his glasses. “Yeah. That’s the one. Anyway, she helped.” He thought about that for a moment. “She can pick locks.”

“Huh.” MJ was clearly turning that notion around in her head. “She picks—locks.”

Harry stared at him. “Peter, the locks in Oscorp aren’t exactly low-tech.”

Peter held up both hands to stop them. “I don’t ask,” he said. “She’s friends with Deadpool, and I don’t ask how he pulls things that are too big to fit into his pouches out of his pouches.”

Suddenly MJ smirked at him. “Too big?” she asked, teasingly. “Like what, Peter?”

“Like a pint sized jar of rainbow glitter,” said Peter. When they looked at him he flushed with embarrassment. “We were making slime,” he said defensively.

MJ grinned, but Harry changed the subject. “Peter, I thought you wore contacts?”

Oh yeah. The lie he’d spun when he first got his powers and the glasses weren’t needed anymore. “I did.” He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks and he knew that he was flushing.

“And?” prompted Harry.

“And Wade likes the glasses.”


	153. Chapter 153

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with Foggy, Matt, and Angel.

Foggy stared at the table. In the short time that Angel had taken over the kitchen (Why, just _why_ do you have black powder in your kitchen, Matt?) a veritable host of food had appeared on the table. There were biscuits (where did she find the stuff to make biscuits?), bacon, eggs (without black powder), and she was in the middle of making pancakes. “Where did you learn to cook?” Foggy asked as he took a shaking seat. There was almost enough food on that table to feed a small army—or two superpowered appetites and one normal person.

“Most of what I know I learned from Papa,” Angel said she flipped the pancakes at the stove. “I learned how to make pancakes from Dad, and everybody agrees that his pancakes are the best.” She neatly slid some onto a plate before pouring more batter into the pan and taking the plate over to Foggy. “Eat up.”

Matt frowned. “How come he gets served first? This is my apartment.”

Angel propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You,” she said tartly, “have a sense of smell on par with a bloodhound, and you were going to put _black powder_ on eggs instead of pepper.”

Foggy stared at her as he realized that she had a point. He didn’t have Matt’s sense of smell, but he could tell that the black powder (and he wasn’t asking what it was, nope, did _not_ need to know) smelled different. How did Matt almost make the mistake?

Foggy lunged across the table to start checking Matt’s head. “Do you have another concussion?” he demanded. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was feeling for, but he had to do _something_.

“What?” Matt said under Foggy’s ministrations. Angel calmly went to the kitchen to flip the pancakes on the stove. “No, get off!”

Foggy, well aware that Matt was not going to use his superior strength on him, ignored the demand as he continued to check for injury. “Are you sure?” he demanded as he ran his fingers through the blond hair. “The _last_ time you had trouble smelling you got hit by a train!”

“It was an _accident_!” growled Matt as Foggy, finding no physical damage, relented and scooted back to his chair—only then realizing that he was wearing half of breakfast. “Sorry Angel,” he said wearily as he grabbed a napkin and tried to salvage _something_ of his suit. He didn’t have clothes at Matt’s anymore.

“No problem,” said Angel calmly. She handed him a warm, damp towel. “At least the pancakes didn’t have syrup on them yet,” she added as he cleaned. She put a new plate down—in front of Matt. Foggy supposed he deserved it. “And it’s a good question. Why _couldn't_ you smell the difference between pepper and black powder?”

Matt sniffed. “Your ponyo is distracting.”

As if cued by his comment a pink—something appeared on Angel’s shoulder. “Ponyo?” it asked. Matt sniffed again.

Angel looked at him with curiosity. “Are you _allergic_ to my slime?” she asked. She turned and went back into the kitchen and Foggy could hear her flipping the pancakes.

“Slime?” Foggy asked as he looked at Matt.

“Her name is Dora!” Angel called back at him.

Foggy looked at Matt who, whether or not he could see or smell, could still sense the gaze. The blind man shrugged. “Her hearing is as good as mine,” he said calmly.

Foggy, who knew that Matt could hear something as minute as _blood flowing through a vein_ , whipped his head towards Angel in alarm. Angel came into the room with more pancakes and a frown. “I don’t know why that panics you,” she said, sounding puzzled as she put the plate in front of him. She looked at him and her head tilted to the side as her eyes narrowed. “Why _does_ that worry you?”

Foggy pointed at Matt. “He went insane.”

Matt scoffed. “I did not.”

“Ah.” Angel looked reassured. “No worries,” she told him. “All my powers, such as they are, have been firmly in place since I was a small child. I’ve got a handle on them by now.” She turned and went back to the kitchen.

“Who trained her?” Foggy hissed to Matt. When the other man shrugged Foggy rolled his eyes and called out, “Who trained you?”

“That’s a loaded question you don’t really want the answer to,” Angel called back calmly. She came back with a third plate of pancakes and sat down at the table. And waited.

Foggy, through Matt in his capacity as Daredevil, had met several heroes of the masked variety. None of them waited for food. What was she waiting for?

Matt clasped his hands together and said, “Dear Lord, please bless this food we are about to receive, amen.” Angel grabbed a fork and began to eat her pancakes.

Foggy stared. This strange girl had waited for a _blessing_ before she ate. Did she know that Matt was Catholic? The lawyer didn’t hide his religion, but he didn’t flaunt it either. Safer that way. And, more importantly, fewer priest jokes since those tended to make Matt murderous.

Angel chewed and swallowed her mouthful before she asked, “Encountered anymore monsters?”

“No. I _am_ keeping your advice in mind. How do you know what to do?”

Angel shrugged, a movement that her wings copied. “I’ve fought them before,” she said simply. “I tracked the person making them here.”

Foggy stared at her as she calmly took another bite of food. “You mean to say,” he said, suddenly losing his appetite, “that you knew this person would create monsters here—and did nothing?”

Angel swallowed before she replied. A tiny, hysterical part of Foggy’s brain noted that she had good table manners. “I’ve tried that,” she said calmly meeting his eyes with her own amber ones. “And each time, they got away. So, I’m trying something different.”

“And this involves the army under the streets you were telling Stark about?” asked Matt. Crumbs flew from his mouth as he talked through his food, still easily understood despite it. Foggy sighed and grabbed a napkin.

Another swallow. “Yeah,” Angel said. And then, in tone entirely too casual for the subject matter, she added, “The person I’m after is building the army out of people that have been transformed.”

One beat. Two beats. Matt turned in her direction and Foggy turned to stare at her. She seemed completely unphased by the information she had just dropped. “What?” asked Foggy.

Matt put his fork down. It clanked like a weapon dropping or the click of a starting pistol. “You know,” he said slowly, “that there’s an unnamed—and I _will_ get that name—person kidnapping people and turning them into monsters.” His tone was reasonable. The tenseness of his body was anything but and Foggy began clearing dishes out of the in case _Matt_ dove across the table.

“It happens every new place this person goes,” Angel said firmly.

“And you’re—just sitting on the knowledge?”

“No.” Angel calmly looked Matt in the face, despite obviously knowing that he couldn't see her. “I’m laying a trap so that _this_ time there is no escape. This ends _here_.” Angel tilted her head to the side. “Besides,” she added, “ _this_ world has something the others didn’t.”

“What’s that?” asked Matt warily.

“A way to turn them back.”

“Hold on,” Foggy said firmly. He turned to Angel. “New world?” he asked.

Angel paused. “Think of the different worlds like stacked dinner plates,” she said. “Each plate is similar, but they’re not _identical_. This person I’ve been following travels from plate to plate and I’ve been chasing.” She calmly went back to eating.

“That’s a good way to explain it,” said Matt.

Her wings flipped in a shrug again. “I can’t take credit for it,” she said humbly. “I got it from someone else.”

Matt grinned and there was a fierceness to it that Foggy didn’t like. “Let me guess, Strange?”

“Not _this_ Strange,” Angel said patiently. “ _My_ Strange.”

“This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever listened to,” Foggy said with a mix of wonder and awe.

Angel looked at him, clearly startled. “ _Really_?” she asked. “That’s so _weird._ ”

To avoid responding to that, Foggy took a bite of the pancakes—and nearly swooned. “Oh, God!” he swore. Matt scowled and smacked him. He ignored the other man as he focused on the teenage girl. “These are _amazing_!”

Angel merely grinned. “Told you,” she said smugly.


	154. Chapter 154

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson Fisk, aka Kingpin, is in office doing paperwork when Deadpool stops by.

Wilson was going over some paperwork for one of his front businesses when the door to his office was pushed open with a hard kick. He looked up with a glare as the red and black costumed figure burst through the door, blithely ignoring the (silenced) gunfire of his bodyguards. The man spread his arms wide and yodeled, “Honey, I’m home!”

Wilson looked over the madman carefully. “Deadpool,” he said, keeping his voice as level as possible. Deadpool used to be an infamous mercenary. He hadn’t taken killing jobs in many years, but it was well known that he was still as indestructible as ever—and vengeful.

“Pin-king!” Deadpool held out his arms and waltzed with an imaginary partner towards Wilson’s desk and plopped down—scattering the paperwork.

Wilson knew better than to comment. Deadpool was violent. Deadpool was playful. Deadpool was unpredictable. “What brings you here?” he asked warily.

Deadpool crossed his legs and began swinging them as he lounged back on the desk. “I’m _so_ happy you asked!” the merc chirped. “I was out, doing the heroing thing—protecting the innocent, getting ungrateful cats out of trees, shooting up food carts that were overcharging for hot dogs—when I ran into my favorite hero of them all! Spidey!” Not once during that speech did the legs stop swinging or Deadpool change position. “So I said, ‘Hey Spidey! How’s it hanging?’ And you know what? He asked me if I was up for a _job_! And I’m like, ‘No way Spides! You know I don’t do those anymore. And _he_ said, ‘Not a killing job, a bodyguard job.’”

Wilson began to get a bad feeling about this.

“ _I’ll let you know if he agrees.”_

“ _I could contact him myself.”_

“ _Ah, yeah. Maybe not the best idea.”_

The bodyguard that Spiderman had been talking about was Deadpool.  On the one hand, it was a great idea. Deadpool  _could not die_ , and he was well known for always getting the job done. True, the city (or country, in one instance) may be leveled, but the job will be done.

On the other hand, Deadpool was insane.

“And you would not _believe_ how many people want to rob banks. I mean, come on! Not only are the police suspiciously on the ball for bank robberies—considering they have no problem with letting small children get tortured and beaten to death by slightly larger children—not to mention Sweet Spidey, he of the Awesome Ass,” Deadpool continued.

Wilson was horrified. He didn’t want this man, this unstable,  _insane_ man, around his family. Anything could happen.

He was also terrified. He didn’t know how to say ‘no’ to this man. This man who courted Death like a lover and had no filter on his mouth. Anything could happen.

A knock on the office door alerted him to his son. The poor boy looked frightened and his heart clenched. He didn’t want his son, his only child, to feel afraid in his own home. “Father?” the boy asked. “Can I—can I talk to you?”

“Of course,” Wilson said amiably. “Mr. Deadpool had just reached a stopping place.”

Deadpool pointed a finger gun at the kid. “So true, tiny motherfucker,” he said cheerfully.

“Please do not use that language in front of my son,” Wilson said firmly. He had to be firm. It was that or break down and cry, because he honestly did not know what to do with this man.

Perhaps Spiderman was a far more worthy foe than he had previously assumed.

“Father,” said the boy hesitantly, ignoring the strange costumed man, “my school is doing a festival. Can—can we go?”

“A festival!” said the mercenary excitedly. His voice got high pitched and he said, “So you want to go to the festival?” Then his voice dipped back to normal as he jumped up and threw open his arms. “Fuck yeah!” he said excitedly. “Let’s go to he festival!”

Wilson stared at the crazy man pulled a phone from one of the pouches (was the pouch even long enough for that phone?) and began swiping the screen. “What are you doing?” he demanded, still slightly horrified.

“Well,” said Deadpool in a frighteningly reasonable tone, “if we’re going to the festival, I’ve got to invite my boo.”

“Your what?” asked Wilson in mild horror.

“My boo. My heart. My main squeeze. My—Petey! We gotta go to the festival!”

Petey? As in—Peter? Was this the same Peter that Wilson had  hired for his anniversary? The one that had destroyed Runaways Unite with his information? And that Peter—was dating  _Deadpool_ ?

“Good question. Hey, Kid.” Deadpool casually nudged the boy in a move that made Wilson’s face darken with rage—but he couldn’t do anything about it. Deadpool was insanely unpredictable. He didn’t want to risk the man turning rage against his family. “What time is the festival?”

And  _this_ was the “bodyguard” Spiderman had recommended? Was the vigilante  _deranged_ ?

Wilson’s son blinked in confusion. “Six tonight,” he blurted.

Wilson winced. Tonight? While there were people trying to kill his family? He couldn't risk taking them out in public! But—he didn’t want to see his son heartbroken either.

“Ooo,” said Deadpool. “Hear that Petey-Pie? Six tonight. And call Angel, if you can. And Ben! Don’t forget Ben! It might just be a part-ay!” Wilson heard screeching on the other end, but couldn't make out the words. “Just tell Tin Can and his Merry Men that you need a break! C’mon, Petey-Pie, it’ll be _super_ fun.” Wilson heard a loud groan and more talking. Suddenly Deadpool held the phone away from his head. “Where’s this festival at?” he asked. Wilson’s son stared in shock at the merc and stammered the address, which was then relayed over the phone. “Got it? Good, gotta go Sweetie Petey!” He made kissing noises and hung up the phone. “Woo!” said Deadpool as he threw his arms into the air. “This is going to be great! Double family date!” Suddenly the man started tapping his chin. “Maybe I should invite the aunt? Nah, she’ll be better off not knowing. Woo!” The masked madman began dancing out of the office and Wilson clutched his head.

Wilson’s son beamed at the man. “Yeah!” he said punching the air. “We’re gonna go to the festival! I have to tell my friends!” He ran out of the office.

Vanessa came into the office as she threw a worried look over her shoulder at the man dancing down the hall. “Who is that?” she asked.

“The bodyguard Spiderman recommended,” Wilson said wearily.

Suddenly the red, black, and white mask popped into the office again as the mercenary leaned in. “Oh, and by the way, tonight isn’t part of the bodyguarding stick. It’s a date!  Woo! No money for tonight!” He danced back out.

Vanessa whirled, eyes wide. “Is he—are we seriously going to go  _out_ with him?” she asked.

Wilson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Are you going to be the one to tell him ‘no’?” he asked wearily.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” one of the bodyguards said.

“Deadpool’s unpredictable,” the other agreed.

“And I was told to watch you and the precious little one trying to talk to his girlfriend over the phone,” the madman added, suddenly appearing behind Vanessa, who whirled and looked at him warily. “Not your husband, though,” Deadpool said as he waved a limp wrist at Wilson. Somehow the mask batted nonexistent eyelashes at them. “Since he’s totally the kind of fucker I’d kill if I still did that sort of thing.”

“ _Whatever problems are between us, they’re between us. Your family is innocent.”_

And Spiderman did his best to protect the innocent.


	155. Chapter 155

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade meet up to talk about the festival.

“What was that about?” Dr. Banner asked with mild curiosity as he started the next phase of the current experiment.

“My boyfriend said we’re going to a festival,” Peter said absently. Really Wade? Not _asking_ to go, but say they were going to? And hinting that they might need backup in the form of Ben and Angel? Clearly Wade had been in the middle of being eavesdropped on (and why hadn’t he waited until he was alone?) so he couldn't be specific.

And a festival? What in the world? Where did Wade even _find_ a festival?

“Oh?” Dr. Banner’s voice held mild interest. “And when is the festival?”

Peter stuck his phone in his pocket and turned to Dr. Banner. “He said it’s at six tonight.”

“Then you have plenty of time to help me here,” said Dr. Banner firmly. “What do you think of this compound?”

The two of them happily wrangled over the compound for Dr. Banner’s next efforts at pain relief for super soldiers until it was time for Peter to leave. Once he left the Tower he pulled his phone out and called Wade. “How you do, Pumpkin Boo?”

Peter smiled affectionately at the nickname. “Just fine, Triple Wine,” he replied, falling into rhyming with ease. He heard Wade chuckle over the phone. “Seriously though, a festival?”

“Oh yeah.” Wade, in full Deadpool gear, popped out between buildings and in front of Peter who smiled warmly to see him. Peter hung up his phone at the same Wade hung up his. In a moment Wade was plastered against Peter’s side and Peter leaned into the embrace. He was happy that Harry was all right. He was happy that MJ was all right.

But the day had been an exhausting roller coaster and somehow everything seemed better when Wade was there.

“So, Ben told me about Pin-king’s spouse and spawn needing a bodyguard,” Wade began.

Peter interrupted with a groan and buried his head into Wade’s side. “I forgot,” he groaned.

Wade hugged Peter tightly. “You were busy,” he said kindly.

“That’s no excuse,” grumbled Peter. He shouldn't have forgotten. Mrs. Fisk and their son were innocent of Kingpin’s crimes. They deserved protection. They served to know they were safe.

They deserved better than Peter.

“Yeah, no,” said Wade firmly. “That is quite enough of that.” He pulled the two of them into a niche between two buildings; not big enough to be an alley. “Listen to me. You are strong, kind, and a beautiful person. I don’t know why you seem so determined to put yourself down,” he added as he cupped one of Peter’s cheeks with a hand, “but you need to stop it.”

Peter reached up and mirrored the gesture, cupping Wade’s face. “I could say the same to you,” he said gently.

Wade glanced around quickly. Before Peter had a chance to ask what he was doing Wade had pulled the mask off—completely off—and bent his head to kiss Peter. Peter reached up to Wade’s shoulders and pulled him as the kiss deepened. They broke for air and Wade put his head against Peter’s with a whine. “Fuck,” he complained.

“We _could_ ,” Peter suggested.

The comment didn’t have the effect he was hoping for from is boyfriend. “I hate my life,” Wade complained as he tucked his head into the crook of Peter’s neck. The tiny puffs of air coming from Wade’s mouth tickled the skin there and Peter repressed a shiver. “We can’t,” Wade whined. “Responsibility.”

“Sucks,” Peter said, finishing the sentence.

Wade didn’t move his head. “Yeah.”

Peter tried to remember what they’d been talking about before Wade had sidetracked him. Wade was really good at that. Sometimes dealing with his boyfriend was like dealing with a party.

Party. “A festival?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Wade despondently. His finger began to trace light patterns on Peter’s back. The movement gave Peter delicious chills. “Kingpin Jr. has a festival at his school. He wanted to go so he could meet up with his girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Peter. His mind was only partially tracking what Wade was saying. The rest of him was focused on those fingers. Was this how Wade felt when Peter did the same thing? It was both horrifying and electrifying.

“But the festival was just announced and planned today, so I totally think it’s a trap and we’re going to need to go in guns blazing— _metaphorically_ Peter, please stop with the judging eyes—and I need backup.

Wade knew. Wade knew that Peter was Spiderman; that’s why he wanted Ben there _as backup_. Wade knew—and wasn’t going to call him out on it.

Peter wasn’t going to acknowledge it either. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to know what Wade thought about it—but Wade couldn’t hate it that much, if he was still willing to work with Spiderman? Right?

Peter pulled back. He smiled up at Wade, at his boyfriend, even as his heart broke a little bit. “I’ll call Ben,” he said.

Wade grinned at him before slipping the mask back on. “I’ll call Angel,” he said.

“Angel has a phone?” That was news to Peter.

“Nah.” Wade suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth, stepped out of the niche, and called out, “FOOD!”

“You called?” The two of them looked at Angel who fearlessly looked back at them. “What?” she asked.


	156. Chapter 156

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to bond with his child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Tony expresses an opinion that I, personally, do not agree with. However, given everything that has happened to him this story, he completely believes it. And is dating Pepper anyway; please keep that in mind. Thank you.

Tony waited in the hall. He wasn’t nervous. He was Tony Stark, Iron Man, the man with the plan and, more importantly, the man with fifteen lawyers dedicated to cleaning up his life in front of the tabloids and a net worth big enough to employ a team twice as a big. He handled terrorists, rabid fans, one-night stands that thought they were staying material, and Pepper in a Mood. He could do this.

He could not do this. Nothing had prepared him for this moment. How many people got the news that they were parents of a child that they’d never even known existed? Well, all right, there were a lot of them. How many people then tried to do right by that kid? All right, there were a lot of those too.

He didn’t know what to do. He was going to breathe. He was not going to pass out. He was _not_ having a panic attack!

“It’s called _privacy_ , Shithead!” snarled a kid’s voice.

Tony lurched from his position in the hall and almost ran into one of the teachers as he raced to the source of the shout. One of the kids—his kid—was in a confrontation with another kid—one of the street kids—as a third kid cowered behind the street kid, crying. Tony did not have the mental capacity to understand what was going on.

The teacher was not suffering from the same handicap. “What happened?” the redheaded woman demanded briskly.

“She was trying to use the bathroom!” street-kid snarled. “ _He_ decided to go in!”

“It’s a door!” his kid protested. “Doors open!”

“Not when someone's behind them, they don’t!”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

“Oh yeah? How about I decide if I rip your face off?”

“ENOUGH!” the teacher shouted. The bellow sent all three kids and Tony to their knees. Tony shook his ringing head as the teacher looked at his kid. “We told you about this,” she said. “If the bathroom door is closed; _leave_ it closed.”

“How do I know which ones are bathroom doors?” demanded his kid.

Which—yes. Tony had to admit the kid had a point. But as someone who shared DNA with the little bastard (something he was going to fix as soon as he had a minute, he swore) Tony was well aware that wasn’t why the kid had opened the bathroom door. And it was clear to him that the cowering child had some kind of trauma associated with opening doors. Tony had to admit that the kid had it going on for discovering its traumas early; that meant more time to fix them later.

“Hi.” Tony waved, getting both the teacher’s attention and the kids’ attention.

The street kid sneered at him. He’d be lying if he said he’d expected something else from her. His kid got defensive though. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

There was a hint of fear in the question and Tony blinked. Why would the kid be afraid? “I came to visit you,” he said.

“Visit?” The question came from two of the kids and the teacher.

“Yeah. It occurred to me that, now that I know I have a kid, I should probably spend time with you.”Tony looked at the boy and got off the floor, meticulously brushing his pants off. “Come on; let’s talk.”

“Mr. Stark,” said the teacher as she began to massage her temples.

“Tony, please.” He smiled at her. “Everyone who yells at me calls me Tony.”

The cowering child sniffed and she turned a glare at him. “Fine. Get him and get out. I have work to do.”

“Right-o.” Tony clapped a hand on the boy—did the kid have a name?—and steered him out of the building. Took him over to a small area with a swinging bench of some kind. Sat the kid down.

“What are we going to talk about?” asked the boy. He looked up at Tony warily.

“Do you have a name?” Tony asked. Hard to properly yell at someone who didn’t have a name.

The boy was clearly surprised. “27-IM,” he said.

Tony sighed. They should have had this talk already—but that was his fault. Well, his and all the crazy shit that was happening in New Amsterdam—no. Crazy shit was _always_ happening in New Amsterdam. That was no excuse.

Where was he? “That’s a designation, not a name,” he said wearily. “And, fine. There’s nothing wrong with having a designation; at the very least it can keep reporters off your ass later.” The boy looked up at him, clearly confused. “No, you need a name. You heard one you like?”

“Not really. We’ve been mostly around the street—former street kids,” the boy explained, “and they don’t really use names. There are two just called Girl Twin and Boy Twin and I don’t think I’ve met Copper.”

Tony had so many questions. None of them were relevant, so he shelved them. “All right,” he said as amiably as possible. “For the time being I’ll call you—Howard. How do you feel about that name?” The boy shrugged. “All right then Howard,” said Tony, “stop poking the girls.”

A beat. Another. “How do you know they’re girls?” asked Howard warily.

“Because I’m the shit-stain your genetics came from. Stop walking in on them in the bathroom.”

“But I—”

“I heard what you told the teacher,” said Tony firmly. God, he couldn't believe he was having this talk. He couldn't believe he had a kid. How had Pepper not killed him back before they’d started dating? “I also know you lied. You want to see how far you can push before it’s too far, and let me tell you kid, that it does _not_ end well.”

Howard(?) looked down at the ground before looking back at Tony. “How does it end?” he asked with curiosity.

A long healed, almost forgotten scar ached for a moment. “With being stabbed, if you’re lucky.”

Howard frowned as he looked up at Tony. The look was pensive, but not worried or frightened. This kid was going to give Tony gray hairs; he just knew it. “What do you mean, ‘ _if_ you’re lucky’?” Howard asked.

“Just what I said.” Tony sighed and slouched on the bench, leaning his head against the back of it. “Listen to an older and wiser and far more scarred man,” he said. “Women aren’t just vicious—they’re creative and you have no idea how lucky you are that the others are still young. Trust me; all that danger distills and crystallizes as they get older until you’re telling a woman that you’re certain her nephew is fine and she slams an iron something into your arm breaking it.”

“That was weirdly specific.”

“It’s a weird world.” Tony closed his eyes and tried to let the peace of the countryside settle him. His ears picked up the sound of wind rustling leaves on the trees, of the crackling of leaves getting stomped on the ground, of children shrieking with laughter, anger, and probably both at the same time. How did anyone living here _function_?

“Why are you here?” Tony opened his eyes to see the kid staring at him.

“To spend some time with you. Something to do with bonding or some shit like that. Is there anything you like to do that does not involve making someone else upset?”

Howard shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. He sounded—lost. Tony could relate. “Do you?”

That was a good question. Tony didn’t actually know the answer to it. “I dunno,” replied Tony morosely. “Most of what I do is tinker in the lab.”

“Oh.” Howard looked around. “I don’t know if there is a lab,” he said thoughtfully, “but the mansion has a kitchen.”

Tony sat up and looked at the kid. A kitchen was no lab—but food was a kind of chemistry. “Let’s check it out,” he suggested.


	157. Chapter 157

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson Fisk and his family meet Deadpool, Peter, Angel, and Ben at the festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm late getting this out. I just got Disney+ and I'm catching up on my favorite shows and trying a few more to see if I like them and I lost track of time. Please don't hate me?

The courtyard and parking lot of the school had been lined with booths. Some were advertising games, some were selling food, and some were selling merchandise. There was ring toss, fried ice cream (ice cream could be fried?), and plush toys of the Avengers right next to each other. Vanessa and his son were looking around each other with delight at the display. Wilson himself was very suspicious.

“Look at the comic book crook and his banging hot babe!” There was only one person that sentence could come from and he turned to see Deadpool—and Peter.

Wilson stared at the couple coming towards them. Peter—that same Peter, that had been caught sniffing after the Snipers—was tucked up close to Deadpool. Under his arm. Smiling into the mask.

The sight was unnerving. Wilson had to stifle an urge to yank the young man away from the madman and towards some kind of protection. But—Peter was an adult. He was not someone who needed Wilson’s protection; the mess with Runaways Unite had proved it.

Vanessa had no such qualms. “Oh! Look at the two of you! You look like a pair of lovebirds!” she said warmly as she dropped Wilson’s hand and reached _towards_ the oncoming couple.

Wilson stared in horror as the madman positively beamed and Peter smiled as he tucked himself _closer_ into the man’s torso. “Good evening Mrs. Fisk, Mr. Fisk,” Peter said warmly.

Unable to look at them anymore Wilson’s eyes roamed the scene behind them—and stopped. Behind Deadpool and Peter was another Peter and a girl with wings. He remembered hearing about her.

_Wilson had been at his desk listening to the report of his men. “The winged girl is protecting the street children from the snipers,” the man had reported. “They want us to challenge her.”_

_The answer to that had been easy for Wilson. “Is she endangering the Snipers in any way? Making it likely that they’ll be caught or leading any enemies to them?”_

“ _No, Sir. Just protecting the street children. She only shows up when one of them is in danger.”_

“ _Then she is not our problem.”_

“ _The Snipers don’t like that.”_

“ _Then tell them to learn to read so they know what’s in a contract that they signed.”_

And the winged girl was here. A quick glance around showed that there were no street children; in distress or otherwise nearby. So, what was she doing here?

Vanessa saw the two at the same time he did. “Oh! And who are these two—Peter?” Her tone trailed off as her eyes got stuck on the second Peter. Then again, she hadn’t heard the reports about the winged girl; he tried to keep her isolated from that business.

“This is my twin, Ben,” Peter said. He stepped away from Deadpool who groped the air after him and made kissing noises, but allowed the action. Peter beamed at Vanessa. “We just found each other,” he added.

Made sense. All of Wilson’s reports said that Peter was an only child, raised by his aunt and uncle when his parents vanished and raised by his aunt after his uncle was killed. Where had the twin come from? More importantly—why was he _here_?

“Deadpool’s using the festival as a date,” a low voice murmured to him. He looked to the left to see that the winged girl had, somehow, gotten up next to him without him noticing. “Ben and I are here as extra security.”

Wilson looked at her and realized that she was the one person who could answer the question that had been bothering him. “What happened to the street children?” he asked.

“Relocated somewhere safe, with someone working with some lawyers to get some laws changed regarding what does and does not constitute child abuse,” the winged girl replied softly.

“And you are?” asked Vanessa as she whirled to see the strange girl far too close to her husband.

The winged girl held out a hand for the woman to shake. Vanessa shook the girl’s hand and then stepped between her and Wilson. The girl’s only reaction to this was to twitch a small grin. “I’m called Angel,” she said.

“Not your real name?”

Angel smiled. “Names have power and I’m a paranoid sort,” she said mildly. She looked around. “I could have sworn that there was another person who was supposed to be here.”

“I’m here.” Wilson turned to see his son. He reached out towards the strange girl with his own hand. “My name’s Richard,” he said firmly as he met her eyes. Wilson couldn't have been more proud of his boy.

“Nice to meet you,” said Angel with a smile as she shook his hand. “And, as a word of warning from someone who wants you to have a long and happy life—don’t randomly give your name out to strangers. Get a nickname for the general public and keep your name to you and your close family.”

“Is that really necessary?” demanded Vanessa irritably as she listened to the exchange.

The girl shrugged and her wings followed the motion. “I’m still alive,” she pointed out.

Wilson knew nothing about the girl, aside from her protective tendencies towards street children with nowhere else to go. For all he knew, the warning was valid and she was, honestly, trying to protect the boy in her own right. He didn’t know why Vanessa was bristling at the girl.

The tension was broken, oddly, by Deadpool. The masked merc wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pointed. “Look!” he babbled excitedly. “One of those stalls is selling chocolate covered bananas!” He dragged the boy off.

Angel did not move; Ben watched them go with a complicated expression of longing on his face. His expressions were as easy read as Peter’s were. Vanessa eyed the girl. “And what about you?” she asked.

The girl shrugged again. “I’m playing bodyguard,” she said calmly, voice slightly amused, “and a poor bodyguard I would be if I ran off ahead of my charges.”

Ben stared at her and blinked for a moment. “You are so strange.”

Angel snorted. “Like you’ve got room to talk,” she countered.

“Allison, hi,” said Richard as the boy waved to a girl. His voice got high pitched and cracked. Wilson remembered those days all too well.

Allison, a girl about Richard’s age and wearing an odd yellow and blue patchwork jumper over a pink long sleeved shirt with bleached blond hair and dark brown eyes, drifted over. “Richard,” she said coolly. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at the group: Vanessa, Wilson, Ben, and Angel without appearing to be impressed. “Mr. Cavawitz is supposed to get pied later.”

“What kind?” asked Richard.

“Jan thinks crème, Bill thinks cherry.”

“Let’s go see!” The large group fallowed the two children through the festival.

“Ben,” called Angel as he walked a little quicker than the others.

He turned without missing a step (far more graceful than Peter was) and grinned at her as he shrugged. “You worry too much, Angel,” he said, tone light and teasing.

Angel shook her head as they moved ahead again and then looked over at the two concerned parents with another shrug. “Maybe I do,” she confessed.

Vanessa, surprisingly given her earlier behavior, smiled at the girl. “Sometimes you just have to worry,” she said knowingly. “It’s either that, or go insane.”

“A lot of people don’t get that,” Angel said with an answering grin.

Wilson wondered at what point the two of them had become friends.


	158. Chapter 158

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry; know I'm running a little behind, but still trying. On a completely unrelated note, did anyone know that Disney+ has George of the Jungle 2?

Wade was right; the festival was an elaborate trap. Peter didn’t think that Fisk realized that the “random” booths that Wade was dragging him to were being staffed by people that Wade knew from his time as a mercenary assassin. Peter watched with light awe as more than one of them turned white, fumbled, and then closed their booths—slowly, so as not to alarm Wade. Wade had a reputation.

And Peter couldn't have been more proud about how Wade was handling the situation. Instead of pulling out a gun and actively threatening these people he kept an arm around Peter’s shoulders and said, “This is my boyfriend. We’re here on a date and I’m sure _nothing_ is going to happen that might jeopardize our date, am I right?”

Most of them simply gave a sickly smile and agreed. One of them, a black woman with a huge afro and a white spot over one eye, laughed. “Oh, Wadey-Poo,” she said. “You have a _boyfriend_?”

Wade beamed at her. “Sure do! Petey-Pie, this is Dom!”

“Domino,” said the woman as she extended a hand towards him.

Peter gently shook it. “Peter,” he said with a smile. He cocked his head as he considered the woman in front of him. “I’ve heard of you. Lady Luck’s Lover?” Domino threw back her head and laughed—but didn’t deny it.

“Aw Wade,” she said with a grin. “You always pick the best ones. What brings you to the shit show, anyway?”

“We’re protecting the family that people are trying to kill,” Wade said firmly.

Domino snorted. “Of course you are.” She stood up, put two fingers to her mouth, and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “Time to GO!” she ordered. She winked at the two in front of her. “See you ‘round,” she said flirtatiously.

Wade snorted. “Not going to join the fun?” he asked.

“Against you? Even Lady Luck has her limits.” She blew them a kiss before packing up her booth and the two of them moved on.

Wade appeared relaxed, but Peter could feel the tension in him. “Hey,” he said between not-threatening vendors, “what’s wrong?”

For a long moment, Wade didn’t answer. “If things were a little different,” he said, “I would _be_ one of these people waiting to kill Pin-king.”

Peter smiled and laid his head against Wade’s arm. “No you wouldn't,” he said with confidence. He smiled as he remembered the first time they’d met; when Wade had been freaking out because he couldn't tell if he’d really seen a child get kidnapped. Even through his broken brain he’d wanted to help the child.

“What makes you say that?” asked Wade. His voice was tight, instead light like he’d probably meant it to be.

Peter simply smiled up at him. “Because this job would require you hurting a child and you would _never_ ,” he said with complete faith. Seeing a dark niche he tugged Wade into it. He pressed a light kiss to Wade’s face through the mask and Wade pushed the mask up so that he could kiss the lips.

The two of them stood there, hugging and breathing each other’s air for a moment before a voice called, “Get a room!”

They broke apart slightly and Wade chuckled. “You always know what to say to me,” he said as he pulled his mask back down.

Peter smiled. “You always know what to say to _me,_ ” he countered. “I—” Danger pinged along his side and he pulled Wade down as further down the aisle of vendors Ben did the same to Richard and Alison and further back Angel did the same for Fisk and his wife.

Gunshots. Screams. Who was most in danger?

“Fucking amateurs,” grumbled Wade. “All this avoidable collateral damage. I’m going to have words with them.”

“Be careful,” Peter said worriedly as Wade pushed up from the ground and charged into the fray. He took a moment to put on his own super suit before joining. He took a moment to orient himself before he ducked over to where Ben had pulled the two kids into cover before everything lit up. Aside from the near constant blare of bullets the festival was eerily quiet. A quick glance around showed that most of the civilians were gone.

Not “gone” as in dead. “Gone” as in hiding. Which was—suspiciously well coordinated. Perhaps it was a good thing that Wade had not-threatened as many vendors as he had; there were fewer of them than there could have been. And it looked as though those who hadn’t been warned off by Wade were trying to get the few civilians that were left out of the firing zone.

Where were all the bullets going? He crouched in a blind spot as he tried to figure it out. It wasn’t until he visually tracked one of the bullets through the air that he saw the shooters were aiming at a—white dome?

No, not a dome. Angel must have pulled both Fisk and his wife down and then sheltered them with her wings. Wings that were, at the moment, collecting bullets.

He stared at her for a moment. How long could she last like that? Why weren’t the bullets going all the way through her wings? What possessed her to do something so _dangerous_? He checked in to see that Ben and the kids were safe and then moved on to where he could take out the gunmen.

Wade had no such caution. He waltzed through the stream of bullets, the bullets flying through him, as he sang. “And another one down, and another one gone, and another one bites the dust!” He pulled his own gun out and shot, unerringly, at the places the bullets were coming from. Peter watched warily until he realized: Wade was not trying to kill the shooters. His bullets were hitting shoulders, hands, and one of them actually hit another gun.

The marksmanship was nothing short of impressive. And reminded Peter of that stolen moment where the two of them had been kissing. He shifted to relieve some uncomfortable pressure and then darted out to help. Angel wouldn't be able to keep up forever, after all.


	159. Chapter 159

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Yukio are getting a lecture from one of their teachers when something happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was channeling more "Black Canary" than "Dazzler," but Black Canary doesn't exist in Marvel and Dazzler does. So. Sorry?

Ms. Grey sighed as she regarded the two girls in front of her. Ellie almost liked Ms. Grey. She didn’t treat the street children as either idiots or untrained pets. “The reason the two of you can’t be behind a closed door together,” the woman said calmly, “is because the other teachers think you are going to have sex.”

Sex? Ew. Ellie couldn't help the twisted snarl her face formed. She knew what sex was, of course, All the street children did. They’d seen the whores peddling themselves on street corners. That wasn’t what people were _supposed_ to do.

Of course, one of the older school kids had confided in Ellie that sex resulted in children. Like—how? And if it resulted in children, why would people who didn’t want children do it?

“Hormones,” answered Ms. Grey. She sighed. “When people like each other very much,” she said slowly, carefully, “they like to touch each other.”

Yukio, still holding Ellie’s shoulders beamed by Ellie’s face, which heated up. “Like you and Mr. Scott!” she chirped.

Ms. Grey gave a delicate cough and said, “Yes, something like that. So—house rule; no sex in the house. Since the other teachers are afraid that the two of you will have sex, you’re not allowed to be behind closed doors together until you move out.”

Touching. Ellie didn’t touch people. She didn’t like it. But—Yukio touched Ellie all the time and there was nothing bad about it. It was actually kind of—nice. Yeah, the word was nice. What would it be like to touch Yukio back the same way that Yukio touched her?

“I can see we’re having this talk _just_ in time,” said Ms. Grey with a firm nod.

“Huh.” Ellie turned the information over in her head. “You said until we move out?” Stark was building that whatever it was for his kids. Would there be a rule like that there to?

“I don’t know,” Ms. Grey said. “I think it would be a good idea to have a rule like that, or I wouldn’t be enforcing _our_ rule like that, but Stark is a law unto himself.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” The shout rocked the room and all three people in it cringed.

Ellie blinked tears out of her eyes. “Ow,” she complained. Yukio slumped and almost fell off Ellie’s shoulder before Ellie caught her.

Ms. Grey shook her head before getting up. She looked mad. “What is Alison _thinking_?” she demanded grimly as she got up and left the room.

Ellie was torn between conflicting desires. One: she wanted to close the door. In the mood that Ms. Grey was currently in, she’d never even realize that she hadn’t been the one to close it and the teacher had said that they couldn't be behind a closed door alone together. Would the teacher get in trouble?

The other desire was to follow Ms. Grey and find out just what was going on. In her experience, yells like that usually meant that someone was in severe about-to-die trouble and she had to protect the other street kids. It was her fault that they were there, after all.

She also had to make sure that Yukio was okay. She wasn’t certain why; Yukio was more than capable of looking after herself, and wasn’t a street child and had never been under Ellie’s protection. But Ellie wanted to protect her anyway.

Yukio won. Ellie held the other girl as she dazedly shook her head. Then Yukio pursed her lips together and for the first time since Ellie had known her the other girl looked angry. “We must see what happened,” she said grimly.

There was nothing else but to agree. Ellie wanted to know too. She slung one of Yukio’s arms around her neck and helped her out. It wasn’t hard to see where the commotion was coming from—people were slowly swarming the kitchen like drugged bees. By the time that Yukio and Ellie got there one of the teachers was pinned in the air by Ms. Grey’s power, mouth sealed shut.

“Alison,” Ms. Grey said firmly, “we’ve talked about this. _You do not use your power inside._ You can really hurt people.”

Alison did not look contrite. She looked _pissed_. She gestured towards the kitchen with one hand and Ellie followed the gesture to look around.

Cabinet doors were hanging off their hinges. The stove was a dented pile of scrap and it looked like the cabinets on either side had been crushed when the inside had bowed outwards. The top of the stove had streaks of soot in an almost pretty pattern.

On their knees in front of the damage were a dazed Tony Stark and the leader (after Angel) of the facility kids. Both of them looked dazed and the skin around Tony’s left eye was starting to purple. Ellie’s eyes zoomed into that forming bruise. She knew _exactly_ what made that kind of bruise. Who would dare to hurt the second richest man on the planet?

“That’s no excuse,” said Ms. Grey firmly. The figure in the air rotated to face the kids swarming the entrance to the kitchen. “And _most_ of the children bolted. You know better than this!” The teacher in the air (the same one, Ellie noted with vague satisfaction, that had demanded that Yukio and Ellie not be behind closed doors together without explaining anything) rotated to face the children in the entrance to the kitchen. They look dazed, confused, and hurt. Some of them (one of them being Ellie, at the very least) are _pissed._

Seriously. The kitchen looked like a bomb went off in it. Whoop-DE-freaking doo. Not important. Things explode in the manor _all the time_. There were kids who accidentally created explosions when they were startled, that time two of the geeks got together in one of the science labs (which were then off-limits unless there was a _knowledgeable_ adult in there with a child and there was a list of knowledgeable adults posted to each of the science lab doors), not to mention when not-teacher what’s-his-name came in, said kids needed to have fun, and gave everything on two legs a bunch of firecrackers. (The teachers had been singularly pissed at that, but the man just said there was a reason he wasn’t a real teacher, and left.) Explosions weren’t really that big of a deal in the manor.

Deliberately using your power against someone was. Ellie’s first three classes had been in what “self defense” is and when it’s appropriate to use your powers. Short answer that all three teachers seemed pleased with is “when someone is about to die.” You can use your powers to protect yourself or to protect someone else, but you _never_ deliberately used them against another person. It was literally lesson one!

“Enough,” Ms. Grey ordered. “I will leave it to the Professor to deal with you,” she said grimly. She turned and faced Stark and the kid. “What happened?” she demanded.

The kid instantly pointed at Tony. “It’s his fault,” he said quickly.

Tony—laughed. He reached out and wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “Definitely my kid,” he said with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viking Women. Why do they assume the Viking women "identified" as male? Just makes no sense to me. I mean, there are women (who identify as female) who like doing things that men like to do. People know this now. So why assume that a Viking Woman Warrior identified as male?
> 
> Side note, has anyone noticed the mistake Ms. Grey made in her talk with Ellie and Yukio?


	160. Chapter 160

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the battle at the festival.

It didn’t take them long, between Wade and Peter, to get the snipers incapacitated. Probably helped that a good third of them had been scared away by Wade. That, and whatever Domino and her team was.

As soon as it was clear he checked in with Ben. Ben had gotten the two kids into a relatively safe shelter by flipping steel wheelbarrows over them. Both kids were shell shocked, Ben looked grim.

Peter knew why. Ben felt that he should have been in the fray as well, fighting crime and helping to protect the people that way. However, Ben was more fragile than Peter was. He didn’t self-heal. He didn’t have a proper Spidey sense. His body had been designed to fail, and they were doing everything they could so that it didn’t. So, this was what Ben could do.

Ben didn’t like it. _Peter_ didn’t like it. But until Ben learned to compensate while fighting for his new fragility this was what they could do. And it _was_ important.

Ben helped the two kids out of their shelter. Both looked a little shocked. “How’s Mom and Dad?” Richard asked in the too-loud voice of someone who was having trouble hearing. A few of those bullets must have hit the wheelbarrow.

“Angel’s got them,” Peter replied with confidence. Ben nodded.

The girl, Alison he thought her name was, was pale and looked slightly shocked. “I’ve got to find my parents,” she said.

Peter and Ben exchanged a look. “I’ll help you look,” Ben said as he gently took the girl’s arm.

Peter reached out for Richard. “Let me help you get you to _your_ parents,” he said calmly. The boy took Peter’s hand and allowed himself to be steered to where the feathered dome that was Angel had been.

When they got there Angel’s wings were sagging to the pavement and both Kingpin and his wife were looking around, slightly dazed. Kingpin’s eyes lit up on seeing the boy next to Peter. “Richard!” he said, relief clear in his voice.

Richard’s face crumpled and he cried out before flinging himself into his father’s arms. Kingpin hugged his son close and Peter saw what looked suspiciously like tears in his eyes. His mom stumbled forward and hugged him as well while behind them Angel began picking at her wings.

Curious as to what she was doing, Peter left the reunited family to see. At first glance it looked like her wings had developed dark gray, almost black patches on them. It wasn’t until Angel dropped a small handful of spent bullets to the street that he realized what he was looking at.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he went over to her.

She calmly scooped another handful of bullets out of her wings. “I will be,” she said grimly as she dropped them to the pavement before moving on for yet another one. She paused and glanced at Peter. “I can’t let my wings heal until I get all the bullets out.”

Peter stooped to help her scoop the bullets out. He winced at the sight of the pulverized flesh beneath the barrage—but the skin on the inside had stopped them. “You can control your healing?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. She paused, yawned, and then went back to work. “Had to learn. Fine work like this is exhausting.”

“I’ll bet.” Part of Peter was intrigued: how well could she control her healing? Had she used it to reinforce the inner skin of her wings to prevent the bullets from going through? Was she able to prevent part of her body from healing while at the same time allowing other parts to heal? How fine was her control?

The rest of him was horrified. _Why_ did she have such control of her powers? He remembered when they were both in Norman’s lab and how she’d mentioned being tortured. He believed it. He was almost certain that the stomach churning truth was that it had been during one of those flippantly mentioned times that she’d learned the fine control she had over her healing ability.

“Spiderman,” said Fisk looming over the two of them.

Peter looked up, but his senses weren’t pinging so he didn’t stop in his work pulling bullets out of the wing. Angel glanced up and then went back to work on her wing. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she was tired. He wasn’t surprised.

“Yes?” Peter asked, when he realized that Fisk wasn’t going to say more.

“Thank you,” Fisk said wearily as he held both his wife and child.

Peter knew that this was the man who ran the criminal underground like a small empire. And yet—the man meant every word. He knew that as well. Beyond the crime, beyond the organization, Fisk was a man with a family that he wanted to protect.

Peter wanted to point out that he was just like many of the families he ruined without thinking about it, in the course of his work. He wanted to point out how many of Fisk’s actions led to families being destroyed. He knew better, of course. There was a time and place for everything and this wasn’t it.

“Not a problem,” he said firmly, willing Fisk to believe it.

“Angel,” said the large man looking at the girl (who had moved on to the other wing while the first one healed. “Thank you, too.”

Angel glanced up and Peter saw a wry smile dance across her face. “For protecting the two of you? Or for not letting you run off into the hail of bullets while you tried to find the son who was being kept perfectly safe?”

Kingpin winced and Peter wondered just what had happened inside that dome, knowing that he would likely never know. “Both,” he said.

“We both appreciate it,” Kingpin’s wife said as she gave her husband a gentle smack.

“No worries. All in a day’s work. There.” The last was said with satisfaction and he saw the last bullet from her wings drop to the sidewalk.

If his vision hadn’t been enhanced he never would have been able to see what he saw. First, tiny threads formed in the air, muscle and bone growing around them. A blink and the wounds were covering themselves with feathers and once more the wings were whole. She stood up and stretched her wings, brushing the tips against the stalls on either side. She tucked them against each other. “Well, that was fun,” she said. “But I’m going to find somewhere to fall over now.” She gave them a half salute before she took off into the air.

That’s when Peter heard it. Sirens. “We should be going as well,” said Fisk as he eyed the direction the sound was coming from warily.

Peter nodded; he needed to be going too. “Be safe,” he suggested before he ducked away from them looking for Ben and Wade.

He found Ben crouched over Wade, holding the larger man in his arms as he looked up with wet eyes at Peter. “He’s not healing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger; I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can!


	161. Chapter 161

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen helps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for gore in this one! It gets a little icky folks.

“There is a body in your bathtub.” There. It was not a question. Gwen was proud of herself for not asking a question. Especially since she’d offered Peter a favor “no questions asked.”

At the time it had seemed to be a brilliant solution to the problem of the reluctant lab assistant. He was shy, he had trouble talking to people, he had an inferiority complex. Gwen was more than capable of handling any request from _that_ Peter. However, by some alchemy that Gwen had been unable to uncover, Peter had begun dating Deadpool.

She was firmly convinced that it was Deadpool’s fault she was here. She had no logical reasoning for her conclusion, but was convinced nevertheless. Besides, he was handy to blame things on.

“It’s not a body. I mean, well, it _is_ a body, but it’s not a _dead_ body—except it kind of is right now?” Gwen turned to the frantic young man standing next to her and calmly looked at him. Two hands grabbed his hair and he blurted, “It’s Wade!”

“Wade. As in, Deadpool,” said Gwen flatly. Peter nodded solemnly, miserably. She turned back to the body in the tub.

Well. Always nice to have a theory confirmed. This _was_ Deadpool’s fault.

“He has a really extreme healing factor—I swear, Dr. Stacey, he can’t die—but he’s not—healing.” Peter slumped wearily. “I don’t know why he’s not healing.”

“Right.” A small part of Gwen was flattered that the first person that Peter thought to call was her. The rest of her was still annoyed, but she was going to do her best to help. After all, she’d promised a favor.

The man in the tub was naked, which was why she hadn’t first realized that it was Deadpool. There were bullet holes marring the scarred skin, and a large gash in the abdomen. “Well,” said Gwen grimly, “if he usually heals from this and he’s not healing from this, then something must be interfering with the healing process.” She turned to look at Peter. Peter, who was looking sickly pale and barely handling the maybe-body in his bathtub. He was not going to be any help at all. “I need a bucket,” she decided as she rolled up her sleeves. She strode through the apartment, leaving Peter and the body behind, on her quest. She opened a closet door—and came face to face with Peter.

She stared. Wasn’t Peter an only child? She felt certain that she’d read somewhere that Peter was an only child. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m—Ben,” said the person in the closet. “Peter’s—twin.”

Gwen was many things (including obsessed with tracking the progress of the only known artificial organic heart inside of a living body in history), but she was not stupid. She’d been on the floor when the robot Spiderman was brought into the lab, so she knew there were two Spidermen running around. She also knew that Peter, as far as anyone knew, was an only child. Therefore the most logical deduction was that Peter and Spiderman was the same person and this “Ben” was the robot that she’d almost met in the lab before she was shooed out.

Not important in the grand scheme of things (although maybe she and Banner could _both_ have Peter as an assistant now and she wouldn't have to trade). “I need a bucket,” she said firmly.

Ben reached behind him, grabbed a bucket, and held it out to her. “Thank you,” she said. “Gloves?” He shook his head and she sighed. Of course there were no gloves. Peter probably had a healing factor. “All right.” She closed the door on the robot again and turned to the bathroom with the bucket. She shed her coat (blood was very difficult to get out of a white lab coat as she’d learned when a fellow intern had a nosebleed all over her), rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked as she stuck one of her hands into the abdominal wound.

“If something,” she grunted, “is interfering—,” she pulled something out and stared at a tiny plastic purple unicorn before tossing it in the bucket and looking back at Peter. “If something is interfering with the ability to heal, then it stands that something needs to be removed.” She studied him for a moment. He was looking distinctly greenish. “If you can’t avoid from puking on me,” she said firmly before turning back to the task at hand, “go join your twin in the closet.” She put her hand back in, feeling carefully for foreign objects. She pulled out three bullets and dropped them in the bucket.

Bullets and a plastic unicorn. Part of her wondered just what the man had been doing when _this_ ended up lodged in his abdomen. A wonder that got even stronger when she pulled out a small bottle of glitter. Rainbow glitter, to be specific. Actually, according to the label (which was still mostly intact if a little gross) it was _biodegradable_ rainbow glitter. Which—why? Not why it existed, there was nothing wrong with biodegradable, but why was it in this man’s abdomen? She tossed it into the bucket.

“Twin?” squeaked Peter.

“Yeah, and you might,” she grunted. What was this? It was huge! Easily the size of her hand. “Reconsider only having one bucket,” she added as she gently wriggled the object out. What was it?

Removal did not add clarity. It was a rounded disk slightly bigger than the size of her hand. The metal was smooth and there were no markings on it.

“What is that?” asked Peter as he leaned over her.

“No idea.” Gwen tossed it into the bucket and reached for the wound—which was rapidly closing. Bullets were being pushed out of holes on the chest. “But I think that was the problem,” she said as the body in the tub choked on an inhale. She got out of the way as Peter wrapped arms around the man’s shoulders and held him as he coughed his way back into life.

The man whimpered. “No, I haven’t,” he whispered hoarsely. He gripped Peter’s shirt. “I wouldn't! You know I wouldn't.” The last words sounded plaintive, like he was desperate for Peter to agree with him.

“You’re all right,” Peter said with relief, a hand coming up to cup the man’s scarred cheek.

Lovely. Gwen was glad the man wasn’t really a dead body (because _that_ would have been fun to explain to the police), but _she_ was still sitting there covered in blood from exploring that abdominal cavity. “This is nice,” she said, startling both men. “But do you mind letting me get a shower now? I’m kind of gross.”

Deadpool’s eyes—a very nice, bright blue she couldn't help but notice—tracked her. “You? How?” he asked.

“This is Dr. Stacey,” Peter said. “She came to help.”

“And did,” Gwen pointed out. “Welcome back to the land of the living Deadpool. Now get out of the tub so I can get a shower.”

At that moment Deadpool seemed to realize that he was naked and he grabbed the shower curtain. She wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to do with it, but he pulled it towards him. “You—thanks?” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Now let me get a shower.”

“You’ve seen more of me than I have of you!” protested Deadpool. There was something almost perfunctory about the statement.

The last of Gwen’s reserve snapped. “All right,” she growled as she stood up and began shucking her clothes.

“What are you doing?” demanded Peter as he tried to shield both his eyes and his boyfriend’s.

“Well, your boyfriend says that I’ve seen more of him—because nothing says intimacy like rooting around your abdomen and figuring out why you can’t heal—than he has of me, so I’m fixing that. And I _need a shower_ ,” she repeated.

Peter, with surprising (or not surprising) strength, gripped Deadpool by the shoulders and hauled him both out of the tub and out of the bathroom leaving her in peace to get cleaned off.

Gwen rolled her eyes. Honestly. And people complained that _she_ had a tendency to overreact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up tonight with the words "Bad Butter Bro" in my head. I don't know why this were in my head; but now I want to work them into a story. Maybe as something Deadpool says?


	162. Chapter 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently started watching Iron Man again and I think Tony may have backslid a little...

“You blew up the kitchen!” Pepper hissed at him as they walked through the halls.

“I am aware of that,” Tony said with mild amusement. His kid—his kid! They were Bonding, he was certain of it. Well, almost certain. About ninety percent sure. Maybe eighty. Definitely seventy percent sure they were bonding. That was good. After all they were going to be living together—

Hold up. How was the kid going to handle the media circus that was Tony’s life? He wasn’t an expert, but going from relatively obscure and having trouble not walking in on girls in the bathroom to the centerpiece of every hot gossip column in the world would probably be a bad thing.

_He_ might not be an expert, but he knew someone who  _was_ . Or rather, he knew someone who knew someone. Would Clint be willing to let Tony talk to his wife? Or at least pass a message along? Since she was so keen on shrinks she should be thrilled that he was asking about them.

“Are you even listening to me?” demanded Pepper. 

“Not really,” admitted Tony. He turned, still walking. “Look, we blew up the kitchen, yeah, but they’re getting a brand new one and catered food in the meantime. Win-win all the way around.”

“No, Tony,” said Pepper, clearly exasperated. “It is _not_ a win-win all the way around. You—”

She was cut off when they opened the door to the office and saw the winged girl crawling in. “Hello,” said Tony warily as he looked at the girl. She looked exhausted; only slightly better than before she collapsed in his lab. “You need something?” he asked.

She fell onto the floor. “Just some…floor…space.” She curled up and folded her wings around her in a feathered dome. Behind her the window slid shut as the programming closed it.

Tony turned to Pepper. “Do we know what happened to her?” he asked.

“No.” Pepper’s eyes were wide for a moment, and then she sighed. “So we’ll have to reschedule all your office stuff to your lab.” She stepped out and called out to one of the janitors. “We have a code fifteen in here.”

“Code fifteen?” asked Tony. “I don’t know what a code fifteen is. In fact, I am shocked, just _shocked_ that there is a code fifteen that I am unaware of.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway to his office. His office, that currently had a feathered dome by the window. Considerately tucked outside of normal foot traffic areas, actually. He wondered if she’d done this before.

The janitor brushed by Tony to erect four large traffic cones around the sleeping (he  _assumed_ she was sleeping and not spinning a cocoon or something) girl, wrap caution tape around them, and clip a plastic sign to the tape where it was easily visible before trotting off to clean something or whatever janitors did. 

Tony looked at the sign before he looked at Pepper. “We have a code for this?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Pepper already going through her tablet. “And it’s easier to implement than code nine, and harder than code twenty.”

Tony was familiar with code twenty. That was evacuation protocol in case The Other Guy decided to make an appearance while Bruce was in the building. “What’s code nine?” he asked as they walked towards the lab. “Seriously, Pep,” he said activating his com as a notification came in, “what’s code nine?”

“Sir,” JARVIS said into his ear, “I have finished going through the files on the facility. There is something I do believe you ought to be aware of.”

“What would that be?” asked Tony absently as he followed Pepper. Who still hadn’t, he couldn't help but notice, answered his question. 

“They were working on another project. Project twenty-four.”

Tony came to a complete stop in the middle of the hallway. Project twenty-four? How did that differ from project twenty-three? “What are the hallmarks of this project?” he asked, trying to keep things vague and to not alarm anyone.

He failed. Pepper, who had been by his side longer than either of them cared to admit,  pivoted mid-step and stalked over to him, the heels of her shoes clicking ominously against the tile. But she didn’t interrupt; she knew better.

“It would appear that for project twenty-four they aimed for those with clearly mutagenic blood,” JARVIS responded.

“Well, they aimed for that with project twenty-three,” Tony said as he tried to figure out what his AI was telling him.

“No, sir. With project twenty-three they aimed for significant individuals such as sir himself, Agent Romanov, Daredevil, and so on. In project twenty-four they were specifically aiming for individuals with clear mutagenic properties such as Ms. Grey, Mr. Scott, Mr. Xavier, and Spiderman.”

And Spiderman. The very same Spiderman that SHIELD had been oh, so very keen to get the identity of. The one that they’d told all the heroes of New Amsterdam that they had their hooks into (which, come to think of it, was everyone— _except_ Spiderman) to find the masked vigilante’s identity and report it back. 

Their reasoning had been benign; even beneficial. Every hero, SHIELD argued, needed support from time to time. Medical help when they were injured during  battle. Emotional support for the inevitable mental trauma. Protection for loved ones.

It suddenly occurred to Tony that SHIELD knew the secrets of every hero in New Amsterdam—except one. They knew, as far as he was aware,  _nothing_ about Spiderman. They didn’t know his age, profession (although, given the hours he’d been sighted it had to be very flexible), or even what region of New Amsterdam he hailed from since his accent changed depending on the district he was in.

No wonder they’d been so desperate to find out; Spiderman was practically rogue. He was an unknown variable that they had no avenue of control over. They had some level of control over literally everyone else.

“How many?” he asked roughly. A brief touch alerted him to Pepper’s presence, staring at him with those worried eyes. He reached out and pulled her close, needing to feel her warmth close to him. She was here; she was safe. SHIELD hadn’t hurt her; _couldn't_ hurt her. Stark Industries was in the best place to negotiate with SHIELD: the two of them were poised over each other’s weak spots.

“Four,” JARVIS replied. “The oldest of which is three. Sir.” Tony’s breath hitched. Three years old. And that was the _oldest_. What about the others? Could they rescue infants? How would that be different?

“I need to get advice. Pepper, how would you go about rescuing four babies from an experimental facility?”

Pepper gave a sharp gasp, and pulled away long enough to look at Tony’s face before she nodded. “Let me make some calls,” she said grimly.


	163. Chapter 163

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen makes Peter, Ben, and Wade talk about feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of plot in this chapter; but these people needed a jump.

Peter glanced around, trying to look anywhere but at Dr. Stacey. Dr. Stacey, who was lounging on his couch like she belonged there, wearing nothing but three towels. “So,” she said calmly as one of her legs swung gently against the front of the couch, “tell me about the relationship between the three of you.”

“Dr. Stacey!” Peter protested, cheeks heating up.

Her eyes narrowed.  Despite only wearing towels she sat regally, like a queen on the old, ratty couch. “You only get  _one_ ‘no questions asked’ favor,” she said icily. “Would you rather I ask about the reason my clothes are in the laundry?”

All three of them replied quickly. “No.”

“We’re good.”

“What about our relationship?” asked Wade desperately. He, Peter, and Ben were sitting on the floor in front of the couch. None of them wanted to talk about Wade not healing properly. They didn’t want to talk about their relationship, either. But it was hard to tell the woman “no” when she’d literally been elbow deep in Wade’s gut trying to find out what had been stopping the healing factor. 

Peter couldn't deny that he wanted to take the thing apart and figure it out. He’d seen Wade’s body expel shrapnel, bullets, and glass. He’d heard (and believed) stories of Wade regenerating from explosions and being torn in half. What could have kept him down for so long?

“Well,” drawled Gwen as she gestured to both Ben and Peter, “both of you are in love with the same man, for one thing.”

They all froze. It made sense. Ben had been created from Peter’s memories, so _of course_ he was in love with Wade, because _Peter_ was in love with Wade. And they’d been flirting—like always— _in front of Ben_. The poor robot must have been torn in two wanting to complain, wanting to flirt with Wade—and not being able to because _Peter_ was right there. Poor Ben!

Ben stared up at Gwen with mild horror. “But—Peter met him first,” he said, carefully  _not_ saying that he was a robot. Peter reached over and pulled Ben into a hug.

“Interesting,” said Gwen as she watched this happen. Her gaze shifted to Wade. “And how do _you_ feel about this?” she demanded.

Wade froze. Peter saw that his eyes were huge, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car rushing towards it. That was when Peter realized something.

_Wade likes Ben too_ .

Of course he did. He liked Peter, and Ben was based off of Peter—so Wade would like Ben as well. What would that be like for Wade?  To be torn between two people who were, almost, the same person? Had he been tormenting his boyfriend?

“I’ll check your laundry,” Peter blurted as he jumped up.

“Sit down.” Dr. Stacey’s voice filled Peter’s veins with ice and she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You and I both know that it’s going to take that ancient clunker of yours longer than fifteen minutes to finish washing my clothes.”

Not a word was said about the pre-treatment that had been necessary. Or why it had been necessary. Of course there wasn’t; she wanted to watch them squirm over their emotions. She was terrifying.

“Now,” she said her gaze shifting between the three of them. “What’s going through your mind, Peter?”

Did he have to? Well, he’d been the one to bring her in. And she’d saved Wade’s life. He guessed this was a small price to pay. He swallowed hard. “I was thinking,” he said slowly as he closed his eyes. “that I put Wade in a horrible position.” Ben reached out and wrapped his arms around Peter. He knew what Peter was thinking.

But then again, he would.

“Oh?” asked Dr. Stacey as she leaned forward looking at them. “Do tell.”

A tiny part of Peter’s mind hysterically wondered if this was revenge for the glitter. “Wade likes Ben, and Ben likes Wade too,” Peter added. Ben didn’t move from his position. The other knew what Peter was thinking: he was just explaining it to Wade. And Dr. Stacey.  He met the eyes of Wade’s mask. “And it must hurt,” he said softly, “not being—touchy.”

Wade enveloped both Peter and Ben in a hug. “Didn’t want to make you jealous, Baby Boy,” he said softly.

“I didn’t either,” Ben said.

“Interesting,” drawled Dr. Stacey. “So, Wade, who are you going to choose?”

Wade stiffened slightly. If he hadn’t been touching Peter, Peter never would have noticed and he could tell that Ben was the same way. “Do I—have to choose?” he asked timidly.

Peter reached out and hugged Wade to him and pressed a kiss to the masked cheek. “No,” he said gently as Ben did the same thing to Wade’s other cheek.

“You don’t,” Ben continued.

A loud buzzing noise made all three of them jump. “That would be my clothes,” said Dr. Stacey. She looked down at the three of them and raised an eyebrow. “Well?” she demanded. “Who’s going to get them for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my lovely audience. I have a crafting obligation and I can't craft and type at the same time, so my next update is going to be a little bit later than normal. At least I didn't leave off on a cliff hanger?


	164. Chapter 164

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go to the new facility to rescue the children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! There are mentions and brief descriptions of child abuse in this chapter, along with mild gore/blood. Also, chapter is longer than normal.

Steve sat in the back of the plane  (okay, Stark called it a jet, but it wasn’t a helicopter so it would always be a plane in his mind) , head resting on his shield. This wasn’t the Captain America shield; this was a matte black stealth shield that Stark had designed, to go with the matte black armor. He sat next to Bucky, the other man in identical armor that had extra (and, according to Stark, extraneous) armor over the armor. (When Stark started being snide about it, Bucky usually just responded with, “Redundancies make for less fatalities.”)

Kids. Steve wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d been relieved when none of the children at the first facility had been his. He was still trying to get used to this new century, to get used to the new gadgets and shiny toys that people deemed “necessary” for survival—he wasn’t ready for a child.

But the back of his mind taunted him with the knowledge that Stark never would have brought this thing up to him and Bucky if he hadn’t thought there was a reason to. And he couldn't help but remember all the blood he’d had taken as part of routine “tests” after he’d first woken up.  And blood that had been used, somehow, to create the children that had been rescued at the facility.

What if one of the children at the new facility was his? Or Bucky’s? How would they deal with that? The two of them were basically living off Stark’s charity, unable to go too far because Stark was the only one who could fix Bucky’s arm when it was acting up.

He remembered, with aching fondness, his own childhood. Sure, they hadn’t always had enough to eat. Sure there had been cold winters and hot summers when the temperature inside was only a few degrees off from the one outside. But even the worst of times had seemed bearable because they’d been family; him, Ma, Bucky, Mrs. Barnes, Mr. Barnes, and Becca. Somehow, no matter how hard life was, it had still been good. Despite bullies and empty bellies and desperately keeping hands and feet warm so he didn’t lose fingers or toes.

Bucky nudged him with a shoulder and Steve looked up. For one brief moment, one shining moment, he saw the Bucky from Before—Before the War, before the fall, before HYDRA. “Stop fretting,” he ordered softly. “Everything will work out.”

Steve managed a small smile. Somehow, despite everything, Bucky could still read his mind. “You say that,” he said, partially teasing and partially serious.

Bucky sighed and leaned against the side of the plane. “ Things work out when we have family,” he said. “Because family supports each other through hard times.” Bucky gently nudged Steve’s ribs through the armor. “We have family.”

They did. Not just each other, but the other Avengers. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that the city was not a good place to raise a child anymore (especially with the way that New Amsterdam seemed to be attacked on a near weekly basis by monsters, aliens, or terrorist organizations), but Stark  _was_ building that place out in the country, near Xavier’s school.

The door to the plane opened again and a small group of civilians, escorted by Clint, were herded onto the plane and strapped into the seats. Two of the civilians were female, the third male and Steve looked at them with curiosity.

“Now,” Clint said as he stood in front of them while they finished strapping in, “Do you understand what you’re supposed to do?” he asked.

They nodded.  One of them, a woman that Steve vaguely recognizes, crosses arms over her chest and glares at Clint. “We do not leave the jet,” she said calmly, “until we get the word that everything is clear. No matter if we hear screams—and we had  _better_ hear screams, do you hear me?—explosions, people begging for their lives—and these people  _deserve_ to beg—or wet gurgling sounds— _which had better all belong to the enemy so help me_ ,” the woman said.

Whoa. Steve looked at the woman who was glaring at Clint and realized who she must be. “It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Barton,” he said politely.

She turned her glare on him. “ _Mrs. Barton_ ,” she spat, “is my mother-in-law.  _My_ name is Laura.”

“Nice to meet you, Laura,” Steve said without missing a beat. Beside him Bucky had gone still. They both knew who Laura reminded him of.

She huffed a small sigh, but relaxed slightly. Barton seemed to relax as well as he pat her on the shoulder and left to the front of the plane. “This is Marcy,” she said gesturing to the woman on her right who nodded, “and James.”

The tall, hulking man who was almost Steve’s size nodded at them. “How do you do?” he asked pleasantly, with a slight hint of a British accent.

“Marcy is a child psychologist who specializes in children less than five years-old,” Laura continued.

Marcy sighed. “I specialize in _orphaned_ young children,” the woman corrected.

“Orphan is a type of trauma.”

“I seriously doubt it compares to what these children are probably going through,” said Marcy, her voice heated.

“I like you,” Bucky said, surprising them all. He didn’t normally talk in front of other people. At least, not unless they were in the Tower. Bucky felt safe in the Tower.

Marcy shot him a quick grin as the plane took off. Steve looked at James. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

James gave him a small smile. “Do you mean, ‘do you know what you’re possibly walking into’?” he asked. “Because the answer is, ‘yes.’ When Laura told us what was needed I volunteered to come along.” He was silent for a moment before his eyes took on a slightly haunted expression. “I helped evacuate the newborns during the Chitauri disaster,” he added softly.

They were all silent the rest of the ride. Steve and Bucky, warned by the shift in the sound of the engines, braced themselves when the plane landed while the civilians were jolted by the impact. Both Steve and Bucky got up and filed out.

The building looked innocuous enough. It was a white brick, cement place. Had a fenced in yard of decent size; there was even grass growing in part of it. At first Steve wondered if they had gone to the wrong place.

Then the door opened and armed men came pouring out of the building. Steve threw his shield at several of them; it hit and bounced off of them when Bucky caught it and threw it back with a glare. He knew what Bucky was thinking; they’d had this conversation before.

“ _It’s a_ shield, _not a weapon,”_ he’d say.

“ _Use it to protect yourself.”_

“ _Steve, why do you have a bullet-proof shield if you aren’t going to cover yourself?”_

There was no time to reminisce. These men (did they have no women at all? Seemed stupid, especially in this day and age) were clever. He knew they realized who they were facing, despite the fact that all of them (Stark was still on the plane and hadn’t come out yet) were in stealth clothing. They tried to duck under the shield to get to him—which was a trap in and of itself. Several of them went down and out of the corners of his eyes Steve noticed the distinctive red feathered tips of tranq darts from Clint’s sniper rifle. Both he and Steve tried not to kill the attackers.

Bucky had no such ethics holding him back. He cut through the agents attacking him like a hot knife went through butter. The destruction in his wake was truly something to behold—and something that Steve felt a little guilty about enjoying.

Sure, these were bad people. Sure, these were the same people (or at least worked for the same organization) as the ones who’d been in charge of the previous facility. But this wasn’t a _war_ ; they could afford to take these people alive.

One of them plays dead, reaches up behind him, and tries to shoot Barton only for Steve to smack the agent with his shield in a move that was far too much like the moves he used to make to dispatch HYDRA. Maybe this was a war, and he was crippling his allies by trying to treat it as something else.

The flood of agents—stopped. There were no more coming out to fight. Bucky and Steve gave wary glances at each other. The next move was building infiltration—and they knew nothing of the layout of the building. They went in anyway.

Unlike the previous facility the walls were much more colorful. The walls were painted in stripes of three colors; nearest the floor was red, just above it was yellow, and just above the yellow was green. The linoleum tiles were white with black spots, eerily mimicking the ceiling tiles above them.

A child’s wail pierced the eerie silence and both of them rushed forward, desperate to help the child. The door the child’s voice was behind was steel, with a wire reinforced window in it. The door did not slow them down and they burst in the room.

There was a small child, barely more than a toddler, strapped to a chair as a man in a white coat pressed a red-hot metal thing to it.

Bucky was across the room before Steve could blink, grabbed the arm of the man holding the metal thing and casually snapped it. Steve rushed to free the frantically sobbing child. From the looks on the kid’s torso, this had been going on for too long. “Hey, hey,” he said as he held the kid, trying to reassure it. “You’re safe now.” The kid looked up at him.

Steve stared into Bucky’s face. More specifically, Bucky’s _young_ face with those distinctive eyes. “It’s okay,” he promised. “They won’t hurt you again.”

“Nope,” agreed Bucky. Steve resolutely did not look as a wet squelch sounded from his position.

“Come on,” he said as he stood up. “We’ve got to find the others.”

The child in his arms pointed when they got in the hallway and Steve followed the kid’s directions—going behind Bucky, just in case they met with more opposition. They found themselves in a room with seven adult sized beds—and two children. One of them, a little blond one, was about the same size as the one in Steve’s arms. The other, a small child with light brown locks, looked up warily despite being about half the size of the others. Both of the new children regarded the adults with wary fear.

Steve handed the child he was holding to Bucky and crouched. Between the two of them, he’d always been the best at handling the frightened children, even Before. He held a hand out. “Hey,” he said gently, softly, “we’ve come to take you guys somewhere safe. Come on.” The blond one stepped in front of the littler one and Steve had a flashback of himself taking on bullies that were much bigger than he was. He gentled his voice further. “It’s okay,” he told them. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“Steve, down!” growled Bucky as a force pushed him to the side. Steve reached up and caught the kid that Bucky had been holding as Bucky pulled a gun and fired into the hall. He sat up and passed his shield to Bucky who hunkered behind it as he fired at whomever was firing at him.

“They don’t like you,” the blond said. While Steve hadn’t been looking the kid had come up to him.

“Of course not,” said Steve. “We’ve come to get you somewhere safe.” The child nodded and grabbed the younger child.

“Will it—be better?” he asked.

Steve thought to the burns on the raven-haired child in his arms. “Yes,” he said firmly. The child nodded and huddled close to Steve who scooped the other two up. “Cover me,” he said to Bucky.

“Always,” Bucky said as he reloaded his guns.

Keeping low to the ground, children in his arms, Steve made his way back to the front of the building. He didn’t have time to worry about how the children were going to react to the sight of all the bodies in the front; he had to get the children out.

Clint met him at the plane, grabbing the children, one at a time, from Steve’s arms and loading them up. “Stark’s information says there’s one more,” Clint said grimly. “Oh, and here,” he said, handing Steve a plastic stick. “Put this in the first computer you find; it’ll give Stark access to everything in here.” Steve nodded and went back into the building, Bucky at his side.

Considering the problems they’d had getting the first three children out, they were unprepared for what they found in regards to the last one. This one was an infant; not even a week old. The white coat wearing scientist in front of the infant’s cradle was writing calmly on a clipboard as they came into the room. The cradle was one of the medical ones, with a detachable plastic basket.

“There are bottles of prepared formula in the cabinet over there,” the scientist said without looking up. The pen in his hand gestured to the cabinets to their left. Bucky warily crossed the room, on the lookout for attack, and opened it. The cabinet was, as the scientist had claimed, full of prepared bottles. “Take them all,” the scientist said. “Otherwise you’ll never get her to where you’re going alive. Her caloric needs are intense; if she doesn’t eat every fifteen to twenty minutes she starts to starve.” The scientist calmly continued writing. “Otherwise she’s remarkably healthy given the odd circumstances of her birth.” The scientist stepped away from the cradle and handed the clipboard to Steve. On it were feeding, changing, and burping instructions. Steve looked up into the scientist’s eyes, confused and the man gave a weary smile. “Not all of us agree with what’s been happening here, soldier. We just couldn't disobey orders.”

Bucky swept the bottles into a bag he found and Steve gently scooped up the top plastic part of the cradle. He nodded to the scientist and he and Bucky slipped out of the room with the infant. It was time to head back to base. To the Tower. To home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9OMAX91oyw
> 
> I know I needed it after writing this chapter.


	165. Chapter 165

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony calls and asks for Deadpool to bring Spiderman to the Tower. They are surprised by what they find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter did not want to stop. I'm sorry it's so long. Hopefully, it's enjoyable.

Peter shivered and it took him a moment to figure out why he was surprised to be chilly. He’d fallen asleep last night, after Dr. Stacey had left, sandwiched between Wade and Ben. Who were both gone. And the bed was cold.

Where were they? He grabbed the cover and rolled in it as he listened. Listened past the neighbors having a fight, past several people getting up and ready for work, getting ready for bed, relaxing, moving—

There. On the roof. Ben and Wade were—fighting? Why?

Peter got up out of bed, threw on some clothes and made his way to the roof. He walked instead of climbing, because it was both in the middle of the day and he wasn’t wearing his suit. Besides, even though he could hear the sounds of physical altercation between Wade and Ben it wasn’t—vicious.

Peter had seen Wade take on people without hesitation. He had seen Wade vicious. This—wasn’t that. This was more like when Spiderman and Deadpool had recently met and Deadpool decided that Spiderman needed more training. And to learn how to land on a building instead of slamming into it. Those early days of being Spiderman had been rough; he’d assumed that his Spidey-sense gave him the ability to do things like land. Who knew that was something that had to be learned?

He took a moment to admire the view. Wade was wearing a sleeveless shirt (emphasizing his toned muscles), and loose pants with cuffs that would fly up periodically to give tantalizing brief glimpses of skin there. Ben was wearing Peter’s sweat pants and one of his loose T-shirts, which fit him just like they fit Peter (of course). Ben also moved athletically, almost acrobatically as he sparred with Wade.

“Why are we doing this again?” asked Peter when the two of them reached a stopping point. Ben sighed, shot Peter a finger gun, and collapsed to the ground breathing heavily.

Wade wiped the back of his hand across his mask like he was wiping away sweat. “Good job, Baby Boy,” he said happily. “You made me work out.” To Peter he said, “Training to compensate for the fact he _doesn’t_ have a Spidey-sense.”

Peter nodded. It would be worse for Ben since he had _memory_ of having the Spidey-sense. “How are you doing?” he asked Ben.

Ben groaned and flopped over. “Like,” he said, “I understand the _point_ , but it sucks.”

“Gets better though,” Peter offers. Ben groaned again.

Music danced around the roof as Wade’s phone went off. “You would not believe your eyes,” a familiar voice sang, “If ten million fireflies—”

It was cut off when Wade answered. “Yello,” said Wade in a sultry voice that made both Peter and Ben shiver, “District of Dismay, Domming or subbing this evening? Stark,” he said, voice lightening, “what up, Buttercup? What? Spidey?”

Peter had trained himself not to eavesdrop on phone calls. (He’d had to, if only for his sanity, when Aunt May briefly experimented with that kink back when he was in high school. He’d learned way too much about that side of the fence and still didn’t know how his aunt could listen to that and never change expression.) He also wanted Wade to know that he was trusted, and that he could answer calls anonymously around him.

Peter and Ben, in a gesture that they’d agreed on back when they were just Spiderman and Deadpool, wave to catch Wade’s attention and cup their ears. Wade nods, puts his hand towards the mouthpiece of the phone, and wiggles his fingers in their direction. So Peter, and presumably Ben, listen in.

“I’m not asking who he is,” Tony was saying on the other end. He sounded stressed and frantic. “But something came up and I need to tell him about it. Can you arrange a meeting or not?”

Wade looked at Peter and Ben. “Well,” he said warily.

“Dammit, Deadpool, this is _important_!”

“Is it life or death?”

“It could very well be,” snarled Tony. “Look. Just. Just get him here, if you can.”

Wade turned from both Peter and Ben to speak into his phone. “Look Tin Can,” he said heatedly, “what is this about?”

There was a brief pause. “I’m not sure the line’s secure.”

Peter and Ben tensed. Why would the line being secure matter? What in the world could Tony want to talk about?

Wade stiffened. “Excuse you, Iron Dick,” he said heatedly. “ _My_ lines are perfectly secure.”

Peter and Ben both nodded. They would have to be, with the work that the merc used to do. Besides, Peter had met Weasel and seen Weasel’s computer security. There was no way the paranoid man would allow anything less than a perfectly secure network near his place of business; probably supplied the mercenaries with phones just to keep things secure.

“I don’t know that _my_ line is secure,” said Tony.

Peter and Ben glanced at each other, worried. Tony was many things; but he didn’t usually admit failings. In fact, he tended to bluster around them, especially when he was acting as Iron Man. What was going on? Why would Tony think that it was possible for his side of the line to be compromised? More importantly, why would he admit it to Wade, someone he only barely tolerated?

“No promises Tinny,” said Wade, “but I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up and turned back to Ben and Peter. Ben had pushed himself to a sitting position and both of them looked at Wade, waiting for an explanation of what happened. Wade stares at them for a moment. “Fuck me,” he said, “the two of you are the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

Peter felt the rush of blood heat his face as he flushed at the compliment and could only assume that Ben was reacting the same way. Still, he refused to be distracted. “What was that about?” he asked.

Wade shivered all over, like a dog shedding water in its coat. “Not sure,” he said finally. “Tin Man refused to say.” He shrugged.

Peter and Ben looked at each other. Without learning how to compensate for his lack of Spidey-sense, Ben couldn't be Spiderman. It was too dangerous for him. However, there _was_ something that Ben was uniquely suited for; being _Peter_. Ben raised a timid hand. “I could be you,” he said, “while you check it out. You’re in Dr. Stacey’s lab today, right?”

Peter nodded as Wade winced. Dr. Stacey had been hard to deal with last night. Her questions had make all three of them an emotional mess—but Peter himself felt better about everything this morning and he was relatively sure that Ben and Wade were the same. And they’d certainly enjoyed themselves last night, after she’d left.

Wade nodded. “All right. Petey-Pie and I will go see what’s got Stark’s panties in a bunch while you get ready for work.” He walked over to Ben, shoved his mask up, and gave the robot a thorough kiss. Peter walked over and gave Ben a hug while reaching up and catching Wade in a kiss of his own.

Wade rode on Peter’s back (not the first time; Spiderman used to give him rides a lot) to the Tower and Peter landed on the side of it outside of Tony’s office (which was oddly deserted for a workday morning). He gently rapped his knuckles on the window. “Hey, JARVIS,” he said softly, knowing how sensitive the computer program’s sensors were. “Would you open the window for us?”

“JARVIS?” asked Wade as the window slid up and the two of them stepped inside.

“If he wants you to know, he’ll introduce himself,” Peter said firmly.

“That is quite alright,” said JARVIS’s prim voice from one of the speakers on the computer/desk. (Only Tony would make a desk that was a computer.) Wade squeaked and gripped Peter hard. “It is nice to officially meet you, Deadpool.”

Wade rallied from his spot on Peter’s shoulders. “Nice to meet you too, creepy computer voice,” Wade said with his customary humor.

Peter grinned at the desk and saw one of the kittens in the basket yawn, stretch, and cross the desk towards the other side. Following the kitten’s gaze he blinked. There was a small feathered dome in the corner of the room, much like the one Angel had made for protecting Kingpin and his wife, but smaller. The small dome was cordoned off with yellow caution tape and the thin inside orange cones that were used for spills, delicate experiments that happened to be too large for a lab table, and organic masses that had a tendency to be disturbingly intelligent.

The kitten launched itself into the air, bouncing off floating things that Peter, even with his enhanced vision, couldn't see until it landed on the feathered dome. As it crawled up the dome cracked dropping the kitten inside. Then the dome dropped to reveal two wings and blearily blinking, clearly groggy Angel. She was holding the kitten in one hand, absently rubbing a thumb gently over the tiny critter’s head. “Wha?” she asked.

Wade dropped from Peter’s shoulders to the ground and Peter tried not to mind the loss. After all, he knew that Wade had some bizarre senses of priority when it came to Angel. “Morning, Sunshine!” he caroled.

Angel yawned and stretched, one wing brushing past Peter to reach across the room while the other curled up against the ceiling. The motion knocked over the cones and she blinked at them for a moment before standing up, still cradling the kitten in one hand, and righting two of the cones—revealing a paper in front of them. “What’s ‘violation fifteen’?” she asked.

“It refers to section fifteen, subsection A of the employee health benefits insurance guide,” JARVIS helpfully replied as Angel yawned again, blinking rapidly. She looked down and appeared to realize she was holding a kitten and then trotted gently over to the desk to helpfully place it in the basket with its mother.

“What does that mean?” Wade asked. He approached the desk as well, looking at it high and low, clearly fascinated.

“Stark Industries Health Care does not pay for suicide,” JARVIS said primly.

Peter blinked. He’d never actually read his employee health insurance information; just been grateful that he had some—even if he never used it. (He’d been able to add Aunt May as a dependent.) Angel propped her fists on her hips as she pursed her lips and looked at the cone and tape.

She looked at Peter. “I don’t know whether to be flattered they recognize I’m strong enough to be a danger or insulted they think I have that little self-control.” She flipped her wings back and then looked at Wade, in full Deadpool suit and back at Peter, in Spiderman outfit. “What are the two of you doing here, anyway?” she asked, confused.

“Darlin’,” said Wade in a fake Southern accent, “we could ask you the same question.”

She shrugged. “Healing micromanagement is draining,” she explained. “I needed somewhere safe to sleep it off, and Stark has offered space in the Tower before.” She didn’t comment on Wade’s accent change.

“Sir is waiting in Laboratory Two,” said JARVIS. Angel looked over at the desk and gave a wry grin.

“Yup. Stark called us in,” said Wade.

“Huh. Mind if I go with you?” she asked.

Wade looked at Peter, who shrugged. “The more the merrier,” he stated. The three of them walked together.

Wade sidled close to Peter. “Just asking, but uh—what’s Lab Two?”

Peter chuckled. “Lab One,” he said, “is Tony’s primary lab with his robots, suits, and mechanics. Lab Two is more electronics, and a little more sterile. I’m surprised he’s letting us in it.”

“Must be important,” said Angel calmly.

Peter notices that she’s practically skipping down the hall. “Do _you_ know what it’s about?” he asked looking at her as they walked. “You seem—perky.”

“No,” she said. She grinned at him. “I just had the longest sleep since I got here, is all.”

Peter mentally replayed last night. Angel had departed from the festival around ten thirty at night. Flying was probably less time than swinging, so she probably got to the Tower around ten forty-five, or thereabouts. Put time falling sleep about eleven. Now Peter himself woke up at about six thirty in the morning, because Wade liked the idea of morning training (probably just wanted to see the early morning sun against Ben’s skin). Given the time it took for them to get ready (more time than necessary given hugs and kisses), they didn’t get to the tower until a little after seven in the morning. So, about eight hours. Only eight hours of sleep, and it was the longest she’s had since coming here? She’s been around almost two months!

“Not sleeping well?” Wade asked.

Angel grimaced. “Do not try to sleep at Daredevil’s,” she advised the two of them. “Crazy magic ninjas attack like, _all_ the time.”

And another point for Peter keeping his identity secret from Daredevil. There was no way that The Hand wouldn't find out about him if Daredevil knew. Hell, Daredevil couldn't keep them from his _own_ life.

“What were you doing at Daredevil’s?” asked Wade as the doors to Lab Two slid open. “He’s not a good role model.”

“I was tired. He said I could build a nest.” Angel shrugged as they walked. “And don’t worry,” she added, “I took it down. With all the protein bars I didn’t even have to eat it.”

“Eat what?” asked Tony with a frown as he walked up to them. Angel just shrugged and he shook his head, clearly dismissing the mystery as he turned to Peter. “You may want—privacy for this,” he said grimly.

Tony was many things. He was a sarcastic asshole, narcissistic, and obsessed with finding out how things worked and may have accidentally created a brand new branch of science. He was not, however, usually grim. Peter wondered what happened. “I trust them,” he said.

Now Tony looked back at Angel before looking between her and Peter. “The two of you—know each other?” he asked, confused.

Angel grinned. “Well,” she said perkily, “he’s like my Papa, and I miss home.” She shrugged.

“I—I’m sorry,” said Tony softly, genuinely. Peter looked at him with surprise. “I hope you get home soon.”

“Hopefully not much longer,” she said mysteriously.

Tony opened his mouth to say something—and was cut off by a baby’s soft cry. Something about the sound tugged at Peter. It didn’t tug in the usual way, like when he was dealing with a baby that needed rescued. This was—deeper, somehow. More poignant. Almost nostalgic—which was weird because he’d never even babysat a baby. “What?”

Peter saw Tony swallow hard and out of the corner of his eye Angel had an odd, unidentifiable expression on her face. “There was—there was a facility. Spiderman—I think I know why SHIELD wants to know who you are so badly.”

The cry came again, slightly louder. Peter looked past Tony and made his way into the lab. There, next to one of the computer benches, was—a pink bassinet? What?

He noticed that Angel had paced him towards the bassinet. She ducked and weaved around it, going in a half circle until she hit the wall. Rubbing her shoulder gently she backed away, never taking her eyes off the pink thing. “That is so weird,” she said, echoing his thoughts.

“So, why did SHIELD want his info?” Wade asked Tony.

Peter heard Tony sigh, but he couldn't take his eyes off the bassinet. He needed to get closer. He needed to see what was in it.

He couldn't move.

There are moments in life when someone can _feel_ everything about to turn. He knew it. He felt it. He couldn't stop it. One of those moments had been when those interns at Oscorp had shoved him into the room with the genetically enhanced spiders. That moment of brief clarity that everything is about to change right before the spiders attacked the intruder in their midst.

The moment right before he discovered Uncle Ben, killed by the carjacker, when all he’d been able to see was the flashing of the police strobes.

The moment he’d seen Deadpool, crouched over in an alley, talking to himself as he drew on the ground with a stick.

And now, this moment. Everything was about to change for him in this moment. Whether he approached the bassinet or not. He took a step forwards and peered in at the infant inside. The infant was wearing a pink full body outfit that extended past its fingers and covered its toes. The infant’s eyes were scrunched shut.

“ _A baby always looks like a cranky old man,”_ Aunt May had once said when Peter asked what he’d looked as a baby. All of his baby pictures had been lost with his parents, so he had no idea. But this. This baby.

This baby was  _his_ . He knew it in his bones. It wasn’t possible; the only bed based shenanigans that he’d gotten into were with  Wade, and if Wade could reproduce—he was certain that he would have.

And yet the baby was his.

Before he knew what he was doing he was holding the infant in his arms, careful to support the head. He’d learned how to hold a baby early in his Spiderman career. He turned to Tony. “How?” he asked.

“SHIELD had a project where they grabbed DNA from all of New Amsterdam’s heroes, including the team at Xavier’s school,” Tony said bluntly.

Peter still couldn't understand it. What? What was Tony saying? How was this baby his? Why did he have the irrational (irrational because he knew  _nothing_ about babies) desire to take her home? What was going on?

“Spiderman,” said Angel softly. He turned to look at her and saw that her wings, despite being tucked up high against her back, were trembling slightly. “It’s a baby me.”

A baby Angel. What was it she had said?  _“There was even a child who’d gotten the mutations of_ two _powerful mutants.”_ Her. The two mutants. Spiderman and Deadpool.

His eyes drifted back to Baby Angel in his arms. She opened her mouth and let out another soft cry.

“Let me show you how to feed her,” Tony said eagerly.


	166. Chapter 166

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben reports to work as Peter. Chaos happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody! I hope this chapter finds everyone healthy (or at least on the road to becoming healthy), and that you enjoy it! Now, onto the news no one wants to hear. Updates may drag a little more; due to fear from the virus-that-shall-not-be-named, the store I work for and its sister stores lost a good third of their employees altogether. Hours will go up, updates may go down. (These fics are my self-care, so maybe not.) 
> 
> Luck and love for you all! :)

Gwen looked up as Ben yawned. It was cute they thought they could fool her as to which was which, but she’d play along. “Long night?” she asked. The guy flushed. It was cute.  He was fun to tease.

“Well, yeah,” he said nervously, fidgeted with the standard issue lab coat.

“Well, fun night’s over,” she said firmly as she gestured to the bench. “Look at what we’re working on now.”

He donned the coat and made his way over to her. “What?” he asked, curiously.

“During that dirty bomb that went off, we got these new proteins to play with,” she said.

“Oh?”

Gwen frowned. Considering how excited Peter had been for the organic matrix (and look what they’d done with it!), she’d expect ed more enthusiasm and less wariness. Well, no matter. He was still her assistant today. “Oh,” she said. He came over to the bench and they leaned over the  samples. “Look at this,” she showed him how they worked.

Why was he edging towards the door? “Parker,” she said sharply. She was  _not_ going to tolerate this in her lab. “ What are you doing?” Did the copy know nothing about science? Why was he here?

Ben swallowed hard. “Well,” he said nervously, “the last time that stuff came out there were crazy people tearing up the city in supercharged, superpowered ways and it’s just a little—nerve wracking.”

Ah. Easy enough to fix. “Think of what we could use this fix,” she said. “If we make this work, we can use it to eliminate airborne infectious diseases.” Ben blinked and then looked back at the bench. She could see that he was intrigued.

Suddenly he frowned. “Would that be a good idea?” he asked. “Wouldn’t making it something that could make itself airborne simply create a worse disease?”

He had a point. She pursed her lips. “Let’s try this and see where it takes us. If it’s looking dicey, that’s what the incinerator is for.”

He nodded. “True.” He grabbed a pair of gloves and safety goggles before returning to the bench to work with her.

Both of them jumped when a loud  siren, shortly followed by a loud roar, split the air. Gwen stared at her experiments with irritation. Of course there would be an emergency today, of course they would have to evacuate the tower just as they started to get going on their experiments, of  _fucking course_ ! 

Ben quickly put the experiments away in their shock-proof cabinets, ditched the lab coat, and quickly hurried Gwen out the door. “Is that even English?” he asked.

That was the moment that Gwen realized that she’d been cursing.  Not just in English, but in every colorful insult she ever learned working her uncle’s used car lot. “Why?” she demanded. “Why does this have to happen now?” As distracted as she was she still noticed when Peter grabbed the coats of two very obviously panicking assistants who clearly wouldn't be able to cut being long term employees with the way that disaster seemed to happen every  _week_ at the tower, and jerking them around until they started to evacuate under their own power.

Not only that but, as emergency protocol dictated, the elevators were out, so the massive herd had to trample down the stairs. Luckily, Tony had long since figured this to be a problem and the emergency slides had inflated and unfolded so that people could evacuate safely and, above all,  _quickly_ . They probably wouldn't have lasted  if the Avengers decided to use them, but since those idiots—heroes—ran  _towards_ danger, the rest of the civilians should be safe.

Ben kept one arm around Gwen as he guided her out of the building. They made it down the steps—to the sidewalk—

The sidewalk erupted in front of them and a huge, hideous monster, like some kind of unholy mating between spider and human, stood in front of them. A human like torso emerged from the spider like body, and the whole thing was covered in fur that was in a ripple pattern of black and dark gray, the gray shimmering in the sunlight. Eight legs meticulously pulled themselves out from under the street as the monster braced itself.

Gwen stared in horror at it as the thing pulled back. She didn’t know if the thin, clear threads of dripping fluid coming from its jaws were venom or spit and she wasn’t sure what difference it would make. The thing hissed, reared back—darted forwards—

And a pink and brown blur came out of  _nowhere_ to shove the thing away. It screeched as it flew down the street and she turned to see the winged girl from the lab. “There’s an army erupting under the city!” the girl said. Her voice was a mixture of exasperation and frustration. “Why are people running  _away_ from the secure building?”

Just then another loud roar echoed from inside the Tower. Ben pointed. “That.”

“Oh.” The girl stared at the Tower for a moment, clearly thinking. “Okay. Okay.” She turned back to Gwen and Peter. “Get as many of these people back inside as you can.”

“We can’t do that!” said Gwen desperately. “The Hulk—”

“I’ll get Hulk,” said the girl firmly.

“Can you even do that?” demanded Ben.

Gwen looked at the pavement where the monster had been standing. There were eight holes, corresponding to the legs, that showed the ground under the street. Her mind replayed the scene where the monster had been flung down the street with no effort. The girl was clearly capable of feats of high strength.

But could she tackle the Hulk?”

“Look,” the girl said grimly, “all I gotta do is get him out _here_. He can take down several of these things on his own.”

“Where are the others?”

“Busy,” the girl replied curtly.

“You’re not invincible,” Ben said.

She gave him a wry grin. “I’m as close as we’re going to get today,” she said. Her wings snapped out away from her back and she took to the sky. 

Gwen looked at Ben. Clearly he knew more about the strange girl than she did. “Can she do it?”

Ben grimaced. “If anyone can, she can,” he said. “Let’s start herding people—oh, Harry!” he rushed over. 

Harry. The patient with the artificial heart. She whirled to look at  a team of medical personell wheeling a stretcher towards the street. Towards the street with monsters coming out of it as Ben rushed towards them. The young man placed both hands on the stretcher and prevented it from moving forwards. “What are you doing?” the doctor, clearly in charge of the situation, demanded of the obstacle.

“You can’t take him onto the street,” Ben replied. He gestured and another monster helpfully burst from the pavement, shrieking. 

Harry’s arm, shaking from the stress of the movement (he needed more recovery before shit like this happened), reached out and weakly grasped Ben’s shirt. “MJ,” he said, pale.

Gwen frowned. He was too pale. He shouldn't be that pale. She darted forwards and barely noticed as Ben gently shook Harry’s grip off and took off running towards the street, presumably in pursuit of “MJ”. Gwen grabbed Harry’s other wrist. His pulse was weak, thready. Not good. She took a thumb and pressed for the O 2 test—white. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds before the nail bed was pink again.

Gwen turned the doctor in rage. “Where’s his oxygen?” she demanded.  The doctor turned, frazzled. “He needs oxygen!”

“He _needs_ to be evacuated!” The doctor's eyes were wide and slightly wild with fear. Gwen mentally cursed. Stark Industries had the best doctors that money could buy—and they were protected from most of the shit that the rest of the company had to deal with on a monthly, weekly, and sometimes daily basis. 

She held up the hand and showed him the nail bed test.  The doctor  stared at her with exasperation. “He’s a rich guy,” he said. “He’s probably had a recent manicure!”

On the bed Harry flinched at the idea. “Father would have  _killed_ me,” he said.

Gwen gestured to him. “Get him back inside,” she ordered. “We have to get him some oxygen  _now_ .”

The nurses tried to comply, but the doctor grabbed the edge of the gurney. “There’s a rampaging Hulk in there!” he growled/screamed.

A shattering of glass made the small group flinch and look up—just in time to see a tiny winged figure fighting to hold a giant green one. The winged figure lost the fight and the green thing began to plummet—right for the group. The winged figure, who Gwen could see was the girl from earlier, shot down and caught the Hulk by his toe. “Stop squirming!” the girl yelled as she flapped a few feet away from them and dropped the Hulk on the street. She pointed in the direction of several more of the spider like monsters. “Smash!” she ordered.

The Hulk roared, fists out on either side, spittle spraying the pavement before lurching forward. Gwen turned to the doctor. “There’s a rampaging Hulk out  _here_ ,” she said.

“Back inside! Back inside!” the doctor screamed.

“ _He_ doesn’t handle panic well, does he?” Gwen turned to see the winged girl standing beside her with an odd smile on her face.

“Aren’t you busy?” she asked.

“Taking a breather,” the girl said. She gestured towards the Hulk, tearing through monsters that were still popping out from under the street. “Trust me,” the girl said in a light tone that had an undertone of grimness to it, “the hard part is yet to come.”

Suddenly all the monsters in sight stopped moving. Shivered. And turned, as one body towards—something.

The winged girl nodded. “That’s my cue,” she said. She clapped Gwen on the shoulder. “Good luck dealing with panic stupid people,” she said before taking off down the street.

“Goddammit!” snarled a voice behind her. She turned to see that the gurney had tipped over, spilling Harry to the ground. The nurses were nowhere to be seen and, as Gwen watched, the doctor took off running for the building, leaving the patient on the ground.

Gwen was going to have to talk to Pepper about that  and get that doctor fired. Or transferred somewhere that  _wasn’t_ such a danger magnet—maybe to an outpost in Alaska. She’d heard that Stark was planning to take advantage of the geothermal properties of one of the volcanoes up there.

That would have to wait, because Gwen’s stunned eyes caught sight of one of the monsters bearing down on the patient. One leg, thicker around that Harry’s thin body, raised over the young man. 

Time slowed as the leg sank towards the ground. Towards the patient.

Towards Harry.


	167. Chapter 167

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman handles his employees and attempts to take advantage of an unforeseen opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work is so hard! *sobs*

Norman watched through the window while the world outside went to pieces. He calmly sipped his drink, knowing that Harry was safe. That Peter was safe. Even if, as Spiderman, Peter had a tendency to run  _into_ danger, the boy had the immortal mercenary by his side, and Deadpool would die before he allowed anything bad to happen to Peter. That was good. And the whore with his grandchild-to-be was also safe; in Stark’s domain playing perfect little wife to Harry.

Once the baby was born he was really going to have put some effort into removing the bitch. He couldn’t allow her to become a  drain on him like  Deanna had become to Norman. The boy didn’t know what he needed to look for in a woman. He needed someone solid, someone stable; not some flighty little fashion slut who was probably sleeping with all her male models. There should be room in the grave; it had been long enough that there shouldn't be much more than bones left of Deanna by now.

He watched with mild interest as  another monster tore out of the pavement. Oh, the strength of these things! He wondered if they could be controlled. He wondered if  _he_ could control them. Perhaps by some kind of subsonic sound?

“Goddamn all these panicking assholes!” snarled a voice behind him. He turned to see Liv dragging her broken arms into his office.

“What are you doing?” he asked mildly.

“Your employees are _looting_ ,” she snapped, “and I am not losing these again!”

Looting? From his company? From him?

This would not be tolerated. He put the glass down on his desk. “We’ll see about this,” he said grimly. He could not simply fire everyone in the building and start hiring again from scratch; the company wouldn't survive it.

That didn’t mean he was going to allow his products to walk out the door. He wasn’t SHIELD, dealing with an internal cancer. This was Oscorp and Oscorp had certain expectations of its employees.

Perhaps the story about what happened to the interns who shoved Peter into the spider testing room had faded. Perhaps they no longer believed it. Or perhaps they were simply frightened and wanted to be able to protect themselves. It was a sentiment that he could understand; after all, Oscorp was (since Stark had gotten out of the game at least) well known for its military applications.

Through use of his exclusive private elevator, Norman made it to the lobby in front of most of his deserting employees. Employees who, despite their fear, milled backwards, unwilling to confront him. He smiled at the people with their product laden arms. Products which never should have left their labs. “Is something wrong?” he asked mildly, crossing his arms and looking down at them like a kindly paternal figure about to deliver a scathing punishment.

One of the scientists tried to hide a beaker behind his back. Valiant effort. Would have worked better if the beaker hadn’t been the size of his torso. 

Undeterred, Norman continued to speak. “You are standing in the second safest building in New Amsterdam.  Why are you attempting to leave?”

“There are monsters out there!” cried one of his business people. Ah, his people. So woefully unprepared for an emergency. He thought it spoke well of how he protected his own. They were perfectly safe, content sheep.

The same wouldn't have worked for Peter and Harry, of course. He needed them to know what kind of world they were growing into. What kind of monsters would be out to get them. 

Norman merely raised an eyebrow at the speaker. “Why, yes,” he said. “But there are no monsters in  _here_ ,” he said. Something exploded not too far from the glass door—and the glass, designed by the scientists at Oscorp, vibrated slightly. “This is,” Norman repeated firmly, “the second safest building in the city. The only one that’s safer is the Stark Industries Tower.”  His gaze swept the room again; no one was leaving. “If you would like,” he said, “I’ll go see if Stark is willing to open the tower to us.  Does anyone have an issue with that?” during his speech he kept his tone even, reasonable. 

He needed them to look at him like a leader, after all. The fierce guard dog protecting them from the evil wolves. They had no idea.

One of them nodded as several of them started filtering back into the main part of the building. Norman turned and walked out. Almost as soon as he was street level he came face to face with one of the disjointed monsters.

_It would be easy to kill._

The monster, showing more self-preservation instinct than a good many humans, skittered away frantically. Norman casually put his hands in his pockets and strolled down the street to the Avengers Tower, capital of Stark Industries. 

He knew Stark would allow his people inside. What kind of a hero would leave innocent civilians unprotected during a crisis like this? It probably wouldn't even occur to him to wonder how many of Norman’s employees were trained corporate spies. It probably wouldn't even occur to his top scientists that they needed to guard their work.

The greatest lesson that Norman had learned was that there was always an opportunity to be grabbed, if he only looked hard enough.

When he reached Stark’s Tower, he stopped. Was that—yes, people were evacuating and there, on one of the ramps into the building was Harry. Harry, strapped to a gurney.

It was far too soon after his surgery for the boy to be moved. As he began running towards the scene, cursing as his shoes—perfect for the office but treacherous for running—slipped on the sidewalk, he saw a blond woman position herself in front of the gurney. She seemed to be yelling at the staff wheeling it and was gesturing inside.

A smart woman. A good woman. Why hadn’t Harry wanted someone like  _her_ ?

A roar grabbed his attention and he glanced up to see  a tiny winged figure diving after a falling Hulk, catching the green super close to the ground. “Stop squirming!” said the figure.

It was the girl. The girl who’d broken in with Spiderman—with Peter—to save Deadpool. The same girl who had been “captured” (Norman truly believed the girl had allowed herself to be captured in order to perform a dual escape) and had gotten Peter out of the restraints before Norman and Liv could finish reprogramming his brain.

The girl whisked the hero over to the street and pointed at several of the monsters. “Smash!” she ordered. The Hulk roared—but obeyed. Norman approached cautiously, heading around the girl as she chatted with the blond, making sure they didn’t see him as he made his way towards Harry.

He was going to have to find out who had authorized moving the boy. Harry was in no shape to be moved around, and Stark’s Tower was the safest building in New Amsterdam—why wasn’t he inside where it was safe?

The gurney tilted, tripped, spilled Harry to the ground. Harry groaned and tried to push himself up, to  try and save himself.

And those bastards  _left him there_ . The blond saw and ran towards him, which Norman approved of. Seriously Harry, how hard was it to find someone like the blond? The redheaded little whore wasn’t even  _there_ .

Then Norman saw the monster. He bolted forwards, knowing what he had to do. The leg lifted and Norman shoved Harry out of the way (careful, always careful, not to touch the sternum that had been cracked for surgery).

The leg came down.


	168. Chapter 168

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is explaining about the baby when he realizes something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, all these chapters occur at the same time and I was originally going to post this one right after the one from Gwen's point of view, but I didn't want to leave you all hanging on the cliff hanger. Also, Tony get a little unintentionally creepy in this chapter.

Tony felt a slight ping of envy as he watched Spiderman hold the baby. He couldn't help but think of Howard; still at Xavier’s. If he’d gotten to the boy sooner, if he’d had the child as a baby—would he feel less awkward around him? Would they be close? Did they have the option of becoming close? He didn’t know.

“How?” Tony opened his mouth to answer, but realized that Spiderman was talking to Angel. Angel, who claimed that the baby was a young version of herself. Angel, who was standing a good three yards away from the baby, but watching with a fascinated expression.

Tony was well acquainted with that expression. He frequently made it himself. Angel’s feathers rustled and she looked at him. “How do you think?” she asked.

Spiderman—flinched. What? What was going on? What was she talking about?

“He—wouldn’t.”

“Well,” she said with a curt head gesture that was so quick Tony couldn't see what she was gesturing to, “not alone.”

“Right.” Spiderman looked down at the infant he was feeding.

What _would_ it have been like to actually _raise_ the child? Instead of just learning Howard existed. Would he have done well? Would he have fucked it up beyond recognition resulting in a surly, broken child?

Deadpool walked over to Spiderman and put a hand on the hero’s shoulder. For one moment Tony was shocked that the scene reminded him of Peter—and then he realized _why_. Deadpool was reacting to Spiderman the same way that he did to _Peter_. Spiderman and Peter were about the same size. Peter…was Spiderman.

Did Osborn know? No, no way that controlling freak knew that Peter was Spiderman. The city would be a far different place if he knew.

Clearly Deadpool knew. When did the merc figure it out? Did it matter? Not really. Once, Tony would have said that the merc was a wildcard with no loyalty but that of money. However, he had recently come to realize that Deadpool did have loyalty—to Peter. To Spiderman.

SHIELD could never know. Tony didn’t even want to think about what they could do with the knowledge. Look at what they _had_ done already!

The door to the lab opened and Pepper came in, the door staying open behind her. “Well,” she said wearily, “Steve and Bucky are completely attached to their kids. Bucky is making sure that his is being looked at by medical.”

Even Bucky, _the Winter Soldier_ , was doing well with his kid. Tony couldn't even bond with his without blowing something up. Honestly, there was something wrong when he was the deficient one. Of course, _theirs_ were younger. Maybe Tony wasn’t as bad as he thought he was.

“I think she’s finished,” said Spiderman, breaking Tony out of his thoughts. He looked over at the masked hero, who was hesitating. He’d set the bottle to the side.

“Now she needs burped,” said Pepper. She walked towards the little group, grabbed the small towel they were using as a burping pad, swung her hair over one shoulder, put the pad on the other, and then took the infant and braced her against the pad. A few gently rubs and the baby burped, spilling out a small dribble of milk.

Tony couldn't help but think that she looked wonderful with the baby. A mix of practical mother and deadly administrator. Would she be up to making a baby, between the two of them? Better wait to ask until everything was settled.

“You’re a natural,” Deadpool said, voice full of awe and the eyes of his suit huge.

“I have four younger siblings,” Pepper said mildly. She put the sleepy infant down in the hospital bassinet before looking up at Angel, who was staring at the scene intently. She had an odd look of yearning on her face. “Do you want to hold the baby?” she asked.

Angel recoiled. “I would,” she said as she took another step back, “but I’m kind of afraid that if I do we’ll both melt.”

Before either Pepper or Tony could react to that statement, Deadpool let out a scoff. “Naw,” he said. “That only happens with time travel.”

Angel crossed her arms and looked at him. “Oh?” she asked. “And how much dimension hopping have _you_ done?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“She doesn’t have wings,” Spiderman noted. “Do they grow in later?”

She snorted. “They don’t grow at all. I know you can’t tell, but these are artificial.” She gently waved her wings, tucked high against her back. “High quality prosthesis, designed to merge with the body and grow just like real wings. I can even heal them now.”

“We saw,’ said Deadpool grimly. Tony wondered what had happened to them. More to the point; the wings were fake? They acted _just_ like he’d expect real wings to act—how?

“Um,” Angel said looking uncomfortable, “what are you doing?”

Tony gently ran a hand over the edge of the wing and then slowly pinched. It reacted like real flesh. “How long did it take to get used to them?” he asked.

“For me to be able to heal them, or for me to be able to fly with them?” She shivered and yanked her wing back. “Would you stop that?” she demanded. “It’s uncomfortable!”

“Tony!” Pepper said firmly. He recognized that warning tone.

He was too focused on the wings to care. “Both,” he said.

“I was able to flap them enough to get a few inches off the ground within a few days, but it took a couple years before they acted like flesh.” Tony didn’t realize that she was edging away and he was following until Pepper stepped between them. “Right, _I’m_ out.” She disappeared.

Tony looked after her with a scowl. “I forgot how fast that girl is,” he muttered.

Pepper scowled at him. “I know,” she said firmly, “that you like playing with new toys, but those wings are part of her and you were making that girl very uncomfortable.”

“I—”

Tony didn’t get a chance to answer as a very familiar alarm rang out through the Tower. He swore as the baby started crying. “What’s going on?” demanded Spiderman.

The Hulk’s roar reverberated through the building. “I’m guessing the big guy saw the kids that were rescued and freaked out,” Tony said as Pepper ran to the baby. She picked the baby up and tried to soothe her.

“Out!” Tony yelled. “I’ve got to close the doors; the lab’s soundproof!” Spiderman and Deadpool wasted no time leaving, but Tony hesitated. He got close to Pepper so that he could should over the sound of the siren and the crying infant. “Pepper, do you think—if I’d found Howard as an infant—”

Pepper reached up and gave him a kiss. “Tony,” she yelled back, “we both know that if you’d found Howard as an infant you would have dropped him with a nanny and never looked back. Go save the Tower!” Tony grinned, nodded, and bounded off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other companies: Oh, we're going to close to limit the spread of this virus.  
> My company: We've instituted a hiring freeze and we've lost a third of our people, so everyone is going to have to work overtime to keep things going.
> 
> I am so tired.


	169. Chapter 169

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May runs into MJ. Chaos happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! There are mentions of graphic child abuse in this chapter (briefly, and from the standpoint of a character mentioning remembering the events). More in depth summary; May is carrying the art she made towards the buyer, meets MJ while the younger is on a food run, the two end up taking shelter in the lobby of a hotel, and May mentions that Norman's father was worse than Norman is. I wrote this on too little sleep, so let me know if you come across any errors and where they may be so that I can fix them later. 
> 
> Love you all; stay safe!

“No, you can’t mail it to me,” May said making her voice artificially deep. “No, my secretary can’t pick it up—do you know how much it weighs?”May clutched the iron monstrosity in one hand as she made her way through the street as she maintained a monologue that went unnoticed by the people around her—or New Amsterdam was sadly conditioned to ignoring people who were lugging giant wrapped things that could be weapons and muttering to themselves. She wasn’t sure which answer depressed her more. She snorted. “Of course,” she said in her normal voice, “I know how much it weighs; I _made_ the damn thing.” Deepening her voice again she said, “Don’t you worry none, all you have do is potentially throw your back out by lugging that huge, ugly ass sculpture to my office. On the other side of the city.” Her voice dropping back to normal she muttered, “Stupid, self-absorbed, arrogant—”

“May? What are you doing?”

May turned to see MJ, that sweet girl that Harry was going to marry, and she smiled. “MJ,” she said warmly. “What brings you down here?”

The girl smiled. She’d always liked May. Well, May had always liked her too. “Food run,” she said holding a paper takeout bag. “Harry’s sick of the hospital food and begged me for something that doesn’t taste like it’s been made with antiseptic.”

May’s smile faltered. “Harry’s in the hospital?” she asked. She hadn’t heard anything about that. Was it his heart? Had his poor heart, after struggling for so long, finally given up?

MJ’s face brightened with a wide grin. “He’s got a new heart,” she said warmly.

May’s brain stuttered for a moment. A new heart? “They found a match?” she asked worriedly. Had Norman dipped into human trafficking? God forbid, had the man committed murder to save his son?

MJ shook her head allaying May’s fears for a moment. “No, Stark Industries created it.” The redhead grimaced. “Peter can explain it better,” she said. “All I know is that it’s an artificial heart that according to one doctor won’t trigger his immune system? The other says we need to be careful in case it does, but they both agree that it’s working properly.”

May’s mind reeled. Stark Industries—had built a heart? That had been placed inside of Harry, replacing his damaged one? And Peter, that wretched boy, hadn’t bothered to tell her any of it?  May’s mouth opened to start asking some of these questions—and was interrupted as something burst from the street. A large, jointed leg appeared.

The tiny part of May’s mind that had studied for  _months_ before that trip to  South America absently recognized the massive, jointed leg was covered in chitin, the material that the natural world used to create exoskeletons and armor for insects. Without thinking the rest of her, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to affect anything if she hit it on a flat surface, brought the sculpture up over her head and down on the joint of the leg. 

S omething tinkled and shifted inside the wrapped package. The iron monstrosity was breaking. She felt it as she hefted the thing again, calculating. It should break a little bit more. She swung it down, aiming for just above the joint. The chitin ben t inwards and the creature the leg was attached to shrieked and withdrew it. “No!” cried May as she ran towards the whole.

She could hear the sound of chittering to her left and she turned her head to see—another three of the creatures. More surfaces that could, legitimately, break the iron monstrosity. A large grin spread across her face.

Moving as one unit the creatures turned and fled the way they had come. “Cowards!” screamed May. She took a step in their direction.

“May?” asked MJ.

Her voice was high, tight. May turned to see that the redheaded girl was far too pale, her freckles standing out in stark contrast to her skin. “Oh, MJ,” said May as she curled an arm protectively around the girl who was clutching the take out bag to her chest. “Come on; let’s get you inside where you can sit.” She moved the girl towards the nearest building.

“What—what’s going on?”

MJ’s eyes were wide and glassy,  her pulse was weak and thready, and her breathing was shallow and rapid. May mentally swore; the girl was going into shock. “It’s just another monster attack,” she said soothingly as she pushed the girl into the building. “They happen all the time.” Just inside the doors (the building was a hotel, not that she’d noticed at first) was a series of occupied benches. She helped MJ over to one and glared at the three men sitting on it.

Much like the monsters, they carefully sidled out of her way and she urged MJ to lay down. May nodded and turned to one of the men. “You, go get a glass of water.”

The man drew himself up to full height, towering over May. She was not impressed; she’d dealt with cry-baby football players in the hospital. “Do I look like a servant?” demanded the man.

May crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the man. “Do I look like I care?” she demanded. He paled, turned, and fled. Hopefully to get the water. Oh, well, she’d get someone else to for it if he didn’t return in a reasonable time. She turned to another man, this one holding a large briefcase. “I need your briefcase,” she told him. May glanced at MJ, she was breathing better, at the very least.

“What?” demanded the man, clutching to his chest like a baby.

May rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to  _open_ it,” she said firmly as she grabbed the thing from his hands. As he gasped in outrage she used it to lever MJ’s legs up over her head. “And get a blanket!” she ordered without looking back. 

MJ looked at May, color already starting to return to her cheeks. “Did Peter tell you?” she asked.

“Tell me what?” May inquired as she took MJ’s wrist to monitor the girl’s pulse. Steady, but still slightly weak. Doing better.

“Harry and I are going to have a baby!” MJ said with a smile.

May smiled back. “That’s wonderful,” she said warmly.

The man she’d sent for water returned. The water even had a straw in it so that MJ wouldn't have to sit up. “Thank you,” she said as a bellhop arrived bearing a blanket. 

“For the miss,” the bellhop said with a slight Irish accent.

“Thank you,” May said again as MJ sipped the water.

The bellhop flushed a deep crimson. “Me mam ud slap, she would, if’n I didn’t help a miss in the fam’ly way.” He nodded as May took the blanket and then fled back to his duties.

An explosion called the remaining men out of the lobby, leaving just her alone with MJ. “Silly geese,” May scolded gently.  The bottoms of all the buildings in the city were reinforced—either by Stark Industries or Oscorp. When Stark had started the project, Oscorp had been right behind.

“Too much to hope that’s Norman,” muttered MJ.

May sighed. She didn’t know what Norman had been doing to the kids, but she knew it was worth the anger that she was hearing. “Norman,” she said wearily, “is a better father than his father before him.”

“How can you say that?” demanded MJ as she tried to sit up, the water spilling slightly.

“Hush,” scolded May. “Tell me; has Norman ever beaten Harry so badly he couldn't walk for the next several weeks, strung Harry up from the rafters in the ceiling, or stripped him naked and sprayed him with a sugar water solution before throwing him outside to the elements?” MJ stared at her in shock and she nodded. “All of this,” she said grimly, “Norman’s father did to him.” She remembered the sugar water incident vividly; Mary and James had kidnapped him from his backyard and taken him to her, knowing that if anyone would be able to help it would have been May and her mother. More importantly the two of them knew better than to try to report an Osborn—the world was a different place back then and no one would have stood with them against the head of the Osborn estate.

May shook the hard memories out of her head. “Yes,” she said, “Norman is a better father than his father was. And I expect Harry will be better still.”

MJ’s hand moved over the cover to rest over her abdomen protectively. “Yes,” she said softly, “he will.”

“And I seriously doubt that Peter will vanish the way his parents did,” May said cryptically.

“What are you—”

The door to the hotel burst open and Peter came in.

No, not Peter. “Ben,” scolded May, “what are you doing here?”

Ben’s eyes were wide. “Harry wanted to make sure that MJ was okay!” he said. “She was on the street when—” He threw himself over the two of them as a monster flew past shortly followed by the Hulk. “That happened,” he continued lamely.

“Ben?” asked MJ. “Peter’s LMD?” May was surprised; how much _did_ Peter’s friends know?

“Uh, yeah.”

“Is Peter treating you all right? Because, even pregnant, I can kick his ass if he isn’t,” said MJ with a scowl.

May smiled as Ben looked surprised. “Um, yeah, pretty good,” he said cagily.

May knew more than MJ, it would seem. All these secrets were starting to wear on her; she was finding it harder and harder to remember who knew what. “Ben,” May said sternly, “you need to go.”

“But I—”

May met his eyes. “If there was ever a time for two of you,” she said firmly, “this is it.”

Ben looked at the floor, ran his hands through his hair in a gesture reminiscent of Peter when he was stressed. He looked out the door, then looked at May again and she could see the gleam of determination in his eyes. “Yes,” he said before running off.

“Why is this a time for two Peters?” asked MJ curiously.


	170. Chapter 170

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Angel follow the monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out. Work is wearing me thin. They lifted the hiring freeze though, so hopefully better soon. T.T

Peter came to a rest on a light  post and stared at the monsters as they scuttled down the street. Angel came to a rest on the wall beside him. “What are they doing?” he asked.

“They’re being called!” she told him. Her voice was grim; no trace of the light humor she usually displayed.

Peter turned to look at her and realized that what she was wearing (shoes aside) was  _armor_ . She was dressed for  _battle_ and had been since she’d arrived in the city.  She’d helped people, joked with people, done her best to make the city a better place, a  _safer_ place—but she’d been ready for battle at any moment.

For the first time since he’d met the girl, Peter truly believed they could be related. “Is this the army that you’ve been waiting for?” he asked.

She nodded. “Come on,” she said as she tensed, ready to shoot forward. “There’s not much time left.” She pushed off and flew down the street.

“You keep saying that!” said Peter as he swung after her quickly. It felt like they’d traveled half the length of the city before they reached the park. All of the monsters they were following were gathering in front of the gates—but didn’t go in.

He paused on the side of the building closest to the event—ostensibly to survey them, but in reality to catch his breath. Angel was  _fast_ , and she hadn’t slowed much for him. Just enough to stay slightly behind the monsters. He looked around and noticed her on another building with a different view and made his way over.

“What are they doing?” he asked softly, just loud enough for him to his hear his own voice as the monsters gathered in a semicircle around the gate.

“I don’t know,” Angel admitted, just a softly. “They’ve never done this before. It almost looks like they’re—no, can’t be.”

“Like they’re what?” asked Peter. He moved to where he was just above her. If she had to take off suddenly he didn’t want those wings to knock him off the building.

“Like they’re summoning the Eye of Aranea,” she said. She shook her head, clearly still puzzled. “But that’s impossible,” she whispered. He got the feeling that she was mostly talking to herself.

Peter might not be fluent in Spanish, Greek, or any of the other languages that Wade tended to spout off at a moments notice, but no one in the city was better than he was at Latin. “The Eye of Spider?” he asked.

She hissed slightly, wings mantling as she looked around, clearly nervous. He stared at her; she was one of the most powerful people he knew. What could be making her nervous?

If anything, her voice got softer as she replied. “It’s—a portal of sorts. A transformation. It will change the world it’s summoned to so that the primary species is spider based.”

Impossible. Except—Peter had seen impossible things before, things no one else had, or could, understand. “I’ve never heard of it.” He swallowed. The implications were—horrific.

She rolled her eyes. “Well,” she said a little tartly, “I’ve never met a version of you that was likely to  _try_ , and  only version of  _me_ that I’ve met didn’t exist a week ago.” Her body was twitching as though she wanted to be moving. He was well familiar with the feeling, but he knew, his gut knew, that this was the time for information and to plan. 

“Calm down,” Peter ordered firmly. He was only slightly surprised she obeyed. “Think. Report. What is this Eye?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “The Eye Aranea,” she said in a mild voice. Peter was shocked when he realized that she sounded just like Doctor Strange. “According to some legends there are pillars that were created with the multiverse was formed. As time passed and the different worlds moved away from each other, most of the pillars were broken. Some of them shattered, some broke into pieces large enough to connect certain worlds together, making travel between them possible. There is considerable debate as to what these pillars actually are; one school of thought believes that they are foundations created from the beginning of time and the complete destruction of these pillars will  herald the utter destruction of our multiverse. In another school of thought the pillars are not pillars at all, but supreme beings that have elected to observe, and occasionally connect, our universes.”

Part of Peter was fascinated. He’d always wanted to pin the elusive sorcerer down and have a theoretical/physics talk with the man. However, the was getting nervous by the mob of monsters beneath them. “Fascinating as this is, we’re running out of time. TL;DR it for me.”

She opened her eyes. “One of the pillars is known as Aranea, so named because Latin is dead and doesn’t have the ability to call it, even by accident.”

Peter frowned. “Latin’s not dead.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, Big Bad God ready wreak havoc with a soft spot for spiders.”

“You think this—person,” Peter fumbled as he realized that she had never, not once, even given him a gender on the person that she’d been hunting, “that you’re looking for is going to open it.”

“No way,” Angel said dismissively. “It requires a self-sacrifice that she’s too selfish to make.” Suddenly Angel’s whole body stilled and her eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she whispered. She surged forward, barely still connected to the building. “Spidey, we’ve got to save that kid!” She shoved off the building.

“Kid?” asked Peter in confusion as he looked towards the scene again. Standing in front of the gathered monsters was a girl about Angel’s age with short, straight black hair that was waving gently in the wind. Next to her was a child.

“ _It’s a baby me.”_ A baby Angel. And that child—was a baby whatever that Angel had been hunting, someone young enough to be influenced. Young enough to be coached. Young enough to offer herself as a sacrifice.

Peter lurched into action.


	171. Chapter 171

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie, Yukio, and others are relaxing at the manor when it gets attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is back in time a little bit, but hopefully still good.

Yukio’s long hair tickled Ellie’s nose as it dropped across both girls’ shoulders. Ellie wouldn't dream of asking Yukio to move it, however. It was oddly nice sitting like this, wrapped in the other girl’s arms.

Ellie leaned forward and placed a card on the ground. “I’m playing my ace of spades on your three of a kind,” she said.  She smirked at her opponent.

Remy glared at her. “Next shuffle,” he said grimly, “Yukio plays by herself,”

Yukio tossed her hair over her shoulder leaving a slight chilled spot where it had been laying against Ellie’s shoulders. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said archly as Remy drew another card. “Oh, Ellie, that one!” she said excitedly as she pointed to one the cards that Ellie was holding.

“Like this,” said Remy as he rolled his eyes.

Girl Twin and Boy Twin’s father walked by them, looking slightly frantic. “ Where are all the teachers?” he asked.

“They went to the city,” Yukio said as Ellie played the last of the cards in her hand and Remy thew his up in disgust. “There’s an emergency going on and they said it requires all hands on deck.” Yukio rested her chin on Ellie’s shoulder as she spoke.

Ellie calmly leaned forward to gather the cards. “Yeah, they all tore out of here about an hour ago.”  She looked over her shoulder at Yukio. “They do that often?”

Yukio shrugged but her eyes laughed. Ellie couldn't help but marvel at the sight. She’d never seen laughing eyes before she’d met Yukio. “Only when there’s something that could potentially destroy the world taking over the city,” she said casually.

Ellie snorted as she shuffled the cards she was holding. “So, about once a month then?” she quipped.  Remy echoed her snort as Yukio laughed, a golden sound.

Twin Father  looked at them. “Did they say where they were going?” he asked.

“They probably didn’t want to bother you, Mr. Erik,” Yukio said.

Remy was paying more attention to Ellie’s hands. “Don’t you forget to deal Yukio in,” he said. “ I’m not playing another hand against the two of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ellie as Yukio slid over. The loss of the girl against her back felt—wrong, but not in a bad way. She’d have to figure it out later. She looked up at the adult. “Do you want to join us, Twin Dad?” she asked.

He stared at her for a moment, eyebrows clicking together. “Twin Dad?” he asked.

“They don’t use names.” Tiny Stark was standing behind Twin Dad and glaring at Ellie.

Ellie glared right back. She didn’t care if they were trying to coexist with the facility kids; Tiny Stark was horrible. “Names,” she bit angrily, “can be dangerous.”

Most adults protested when she made that comment. Twin Dad simply looked sad. “They can,” he admitted. Then he got down on the floor where the children were playing cards. “What are we playing?”

Ellie watched him approvingly. Most adults tried to lord themselves over the kids, assuming that they knew better. Twin Dad simply acknowledged they had a point. “We’re playing Rummy,” said Remy. “You can play too, Tiny Stark.”

“Tiny Stark?” repeated the child in question as Twin Dad chuckled.

“Yeah,” said Ellie as she began dealing the cards. “The big you is Tony Stark, so you’re Tiny Stark.”

Tiny Stark mulled that over in his head for a moment. “That works,” he said as he dropped to the floor next to Twin Dad. Ellie calmly dealt him in too. “I don’t know how to play Rummy, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Twin Dad said. “I’ll teach you.”

Remy groaned. “It better not be like when Yukio was teaching Ellie,” he warned.

“You just don’t like losing,” teased Yukio.

Watching the people around her bickering in a friendly way made Ellie relax. This was nice; everyone was together, no one was in danger, and no one was fighting. There was no running, no worry about being attacked, and that constant edge of fear she’d had for as long as she could remember was gone. It was good.

So, of course, that was the moment a large piercing alarm sounded. “What’s that?” demanded Ellie as she jumped up. Across the sitting circle, Remy did the same thing and, to her surprise, so did Tiny Stark.

“Invasion alarm,” said Twin Dad grimly as he stood up. “The manor is being attacked.”

“Don’t worry,” Yukio said calmly. “It happens about once a month.”

Ellie couldn't stop from worrying. She had felt _secure_. She had felt _safe_. She was never going to feel either of those things ever again.

Twin Dad walked through the house and the children followed him. “We have a procedure for this,” he said as they walked out onto the porch. He raised his arms and suddenly there was a huge metal fence circling the manor. Ellie watched as the monsters approached. They were the monsters that had been roaming the sewers along with the children. She heard Remy’s low hiss and she glared at the creatures that had hunted the children through the sewers.

Watched as they began to climb the fence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work: Your area is about to go on lockdown. Print out these certificates that prove you're an essential employee.  
> Me:Print the certificates and keep them with your ID, so you can prove they're yours. Have you printed it yet? Print it now, before you go. No, don't wait until tomorrow.  
> Coworkers: We've been arrested!  
> I am so tired. :(


End file.
